


I tumblr'd, I fell

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Tumblr Prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-02-18 12:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 80
Words: 149,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: A collection of taserbones stuff I've written 'cause people asked for it on tumblr:





	1. Italian Game

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing!

**Prompt: Brock, Darcy, & a chess game for it'sjaili**

 

**octopus**

_A strongly positioned knight in enemy territory. A knight on e6 reaches out in eight directions, like the eight tentacles of an octopus._

 

“I’m not playing chess with you, mate,” Jack Rollins said out loud. Rumlow snickered.

“Afraid I’ll beat you again?” the other agent said. They were stuck in a remote Norwegian lab guarding Jane Foster and her assistant. Now that they were finished with their HYDRA undercover work for Fury after the fall of SHIELD, Fury had given them what was considered a plum assignment. Of course, Fury had also warned them to lay low, considering the number of real HYDRA who wanted them dead.

“I’m sick of being cooped up indoors,” Jack grumbled.

“I thought you were happy that you could be Australian again?” Brock said. Jack’s inability to master a solid American accent had meant that he’d been a rather silent and sullen triple agent. He’d grunted and frowned a lot. Only Brock knew that was because his vowels were all FUBAR. “Come on, Steve Irwin, play some chess with me,” Brock said. In the months after Triskelion–while he waited for Helen Cho to come patch up his burns with her Cradle–Rumlow had become obsessively fixated on chess. He couldn’t do anything physical and online chess meant that he didn’t have to see people’s winces when they looked at his battered skin and face.

“I’ll play,” a female voice said. Foster’s assistant, the one with the iPod fixation who’d sent Phil all those emails after New Mexico, was standing in the doorway.

“You’ll play?” Brock said, raising an eyebrow in challenge.

“I’ll win,” Darcy said, catching his skepticism. She took off her heavy coat and scarf.

Rumlow was good at chess. He thought she would lose within a few moves. Most people did. She didn’t. “Did you think I would go down easily, Rumlow?” Darcy said. He felt himself flush a little. Was she trying to rattle him by being provocative? He’d caught the way she leaned forward whenever she moved a piece, revealing the edge of her bra, or the way she nibbled at her lips, and touched her hair. He tapped his foot as she considered her next move. “Agitated?” Darcy said.

“No,” he said. So what if it felt like years since he’d had sex. She couldn’t know, just by looking at him…

“Sure,” she said.

“Knight to E6,” she said, moving her knight into his territory.

“You’re going to lose, Lewis,” he said.

“You keep thinking that,” Darcy told him.

She won. He was sitting there, baffled and blinking, when she smirked at him. “Chess blindness?” she prompted. “I would have thought you’d recognize a knight in octopus, too.”

“Shit,” he said. She stood up and got her scarf. “Two out of three?” he offered.

“Nope,” she said. “I have new plans.”

“Oh,” he said, disappointed.

“It’s a date actually,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, sighing.

“Are you just going to sit there or are we going to dinner?” Darcy said.

“Huh?” he said.

“We’re dating now, catch up, chess genius,” she said.

“Oh–oh,” he said, looking at her.

“For a chess guy, you don’t have a smooth game,” she teased.

“I’ve got a pretty good opening move,” he said, grinning slowly and raking his eyes over her body. “You ever see a good Italian Game?”


	2. "I'm not afraid anymore"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Winchesterxgirl:  
>  <https://p-r-o-m-p-t-s.tumblr.com/post/184623621571/writing-prompt-267>  
>   
> Writing Prompt 267:  
> “I’m not afraid anymore.”  
> “Then I’ll make you afraid again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

 

“I’m not afraid anymore,” Darcy said into the comms device in her ear. She flattened her body against the wall and readied her gun. Natasha had taught her to use it.

“Then I’ll make you afraid again,” Rumlow said, his voice low and ominous in her ear, a whisper of threatening static. He was somewhere in the house. He had to be near; it was just the two of them now. Darcy listened for the sound of footsteps, then began to move as quietly as possible. She peered around a corner when she heard the creak of floorboards. It was an old, isolated house. Rumlow was there in the dark, just inches away. His back was to her, the muscles in his shoulders tense as he held his own weapon. She couldn’t see his face, but she knew she needed to move fast. Darcy raised her gun and pulled the trigger. She had aimed squarely at the back of his head, at the patch of skin not hidden by his gear. A kill shot.

It was less fun than she’d anticipated.

 _Bleep-bleep._ Her gun and the sensors on his gear registered her win. “Fuck,” he said out loud, turning and taking off his helmet. Rumlow was grimacing.

“I win, I win,” Darcy jeered. “Who’s afraid now, bitch?”

“Very funny, Lewis,” he said. “It’s laser tag, not real life.”

“Uh-huh, because if it was real life, you would be dead right now,” Darcy told him.

“I’m very much alive,” he said, expression shifting. He smirked and stepped towards her. “If you’d like to investigate just how alive, I’d be glad to demonstrate,” he said, putting his hands on the wall, so they bracketed her body.

“Here?” Darcy said, feeling a bead of sweat run down her back.

“Nobody left but us,” he said, brushing the side of her cheek with his mouth lightly. “We could have a lot of fun,” he added, shifting his attention to her top lip. Darcy didn’t mean to make that sound. He grinned. “That’s not fear, is it?” he teased.

  



	3. change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from Winchesterxgirl:
> 
> <https://thewholekitandkabobble.tumblr.com/post/184613873879/dialogue-prompt>  
> 
> 
> Dialogue Prompt:
> 
> “I know I’m not what you wanted.”  
> “So?”  
> “So I know.”  
> “That’s it?”  
> “What, were you expecting me to offer to change? To beg you to accept me as I am? I’m not going to. I know you didn’t want me. Too bad. I want me, and I don’t intend to change.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

“I know I’m not what you wanted,” he told her, looking somewhere off to the side, beyond her shoulder. Brock Rumlow did middle-distance stare really well, even here, Darcy thought. She glanced quickly over her shoulder and realized he might be looking at Steve, smiling across the room.

“So?” Darcy said.

“So I know,” he said. His jaw looked tight to her. He was so close, she could see when he swallowed, the flex of muscles in his tanned neck. He hadn’t shaved this morning, so stubble darkened his face, shading over the scars.

“That’s it?” she said, perplexed.

“What, were you expecting me to offer to change? To beg you to accept me as I am? I’m not going to. I know you didn’t want me. Too bad. I want me, and I don’t intend to change,” he said stubbornly.

“You’re very dramatic,” she told him. “It’s a dance class for Steve and Bucky’s wedding. I didn’t even ask to change partners and you’re stepping on my pinky toe with your clunky man shoes.”

“Oh,” he said. “Shit. Sorry.”

“What has you so convinced I don’t want you as a dance partner?” she said, trying to step and talk simultaneously. She leaned against him a fraction.

“People are afraid of me, sometimes. It’s the whole triple agent thing, there was a rumor I was really HYDRA,” Rumlow explained. “The scars,” he added, gesturing towards his burned face with the hand that held hers gently.

  
  



	4. F--- You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Winchesterxgirl.
> 
> Prompt:  
> "Go fuck yourself."  
> "Fuck me yourself, you coward."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

Darcy hates Rumlow. She can’t stand him from the moment they introduce him as she and Jane’s new security. It’s not the HYDRA thing, his history as a triple agent, that trips all her red flags, grates on her nerves. Darcy gets along with Natasha, one of the most lethal and slippery women in the world. She bakes brownies for sad-eyed Bucky Barnes and hides M&Ms in them, just to see him give her a fleeting smile of surprise and delight. She likes Jack, the Australian one and Rumlow’s work--and if _‘and they were roommates’_ rumors can be believed--secret life partner, despite Jack’s terrifying resting bitchface. She can make Jack laugh and it feels like a good day.  But she loathes Rumlow. Darcy can’t stand the way he looks at her, the tone of voice he uses, the seething contempt he seems to radiate in her direction. She isn’t usually bothered by people on this level. It makes her feel all out of sorts, like she’s stepped on a carpet only to find that the subfloor underneath is wonky and slopes. Brock Rumlow is eroding the easy happiness she’s built in Jane’s lab over the years. She finds herself running more errands, always asking Jack to go with her.

 

It’s the way Rumlow barks out orders during their lab evac drills: “Move it, move it, Lewis, c’mon. Leave your shit. Pretend it’s on fire.”

The way he introduces her so dismissively to people with a pop of his gum and a tight jaw: “This is Lewis. She’s Foster’s assistant.”

The way he hustles her and yanks her arm when there’s an emergency at Jane’s Berlin conference and the sirens come on and Darcy freezes slightly until she sees Jack is getting Jane off-stage: “Hurry up, this ain’t a beauty contest.”

 

Outside, carefully sheltered at a second location--Rumlow insists they move several blocks from the conference venue, snapping, “hustle, hustle, folks”---Darcy finally loses it. Jane is talking to an eminent scientist a safe distance away, so she stares daggers at him when he tells her to move away from the lobby-level window and actually seizes her arm, pulling her backwards. “Hey,” he says, “you hear me?”  

“What the hell is your problem?” she says quietly. “Take your hands off me.” Darcy yanks her arm free. He stares at her, blinking.

“You got a problem with how I run your security? Keep you safe?” he asks.

“No, it’s _you_ I have a problem with,” Darcy says sharply. “You might have Fury’s trust, but I know what you are.”

“What I am?” he says.

“The guy who squeaked out of Naziville on his one scruple, but still has that rotten core that made HYDRA such a great fit, personality-wise,” she tells him. He sucks in sharply.

“Go fuck yourself,” he says, hissing the words out. She doesn’t _mean_ to say what she says next. The words spill out.

“Fuck me yourself, you coward,” Darcy snaps. That hits him with enough force to make him take a step back. She turns and walks away from the window.

 

He finds her in a back office. Shuts the door and leans against it, turning the lock. “You ready for yours?” he asks. When she nods, he unzips his pants.

 

The hands that are so careful with triggers leave red marks on her thighs, her ass. Red blossoming dark purple, purple turning greenish-yellow. She looks at her body in the bathroom mirror back home and doesn’t quite recognize herself. It’s a feeling she decides she doesn’t like, so she pretends it never happened. She won’t be doing it again. Instead, she treats him like a stranger she met the day before. Politely vague. One day, he asks if she wants something from the vending machine. “Nope,” she says, with enough eye contact that he hopes he gets the message. He nods. There is a candy bar on her desk when she gets back.  He continues to pop his gum whenever she talks.

 

“Doesn’t that drive you crazy?” Jane asks one day, when Rumlow and Jack are both out of the lab, in another wing, getting a message from Fury. “That gum popping thing? I thought it was one of your pet peeves, like people who pop bubble wrap in public?”

“Nah,” Darcy lies, “it really bugs my mom, though.”

“That’s who I’m thinking of,” Jane says, nodding.

 

That’s the same afternoon they have what the incident reports call a lab incursion. The lab incursion is six-foot-two and has killed twenty-three people. Darcy tases him, the man who is trying to drag Jane away. She is calm--so calm--while it is going on. Everything happens in slow motion, but she knows her emergency prep. She has memorized it because Rumlow is constantly having them run drills. The taser is her addition. Afterwards, she sits in medical. “You’re in shock,” Rumlow tells her, when she finally cries and says she wasn’t afraid while it was happening, only after he let go of Jane and hit the floor. He leaves a candy bar with her. “Eat it,” he says, “the sugar will help.”

 

Several days later, she is at home when he knocks. She answers the door. He stands there, clearly itching in his skin, eyes dark, something _something_ flitting across his face. “I thought I was pretty clear I wasn’t interested,” she says, just so everything’s clear. “You left bruises.” His mouth opens, shuts again. He seems to dig the words out of himself, shakes his head a little.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Sometimes I don’t know my own strength now that Cho fixed me up. I used to be weaker. We should have discussed it more, that was my responsibility.”

“Doesn’t seem relevant,” Darcy says, shrugging. “I’m not a submissive person.” He swallows.

“Good,” he says.

“Good?” Darcy tilts her head.

“I—I would like you to punish me,” he says slowly. “For all my failures.” Darcy studies him for a moment, things clicking into place.

 

“Is that what we’re doing?” she says.

 

He nods.

 

“Talk to me like that again,” he says quietly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same 'verse continues in ch. 5.


	5. F-- You Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Yeah, I have no idea why I wrote this. It's an expansion on ch. 4 and I have no idea if it even makes sense, but the governesses thing is true. They were called "Houses of Discipline," rather than brothels.

She doesn’t know exactly what she’s expected to be doing to him--for him?--or with him, so she asks what he normally does. “Alone?” he says. “Alone I….I use things. A belt, mostly. I used to use knives.” He swallows. “But people tended to stare. It left marks.” He blinks.

She knows he is making himself vulnerable.

So Darcy hopes her concern, her alarm doesn’t peek through in her expression. She knows he is watching her intently and she is suddenly grateful that she had that one roommate at Culver who dabbled and read erotica online and talked about it, enough for her to pick up some bits of slang. Her brain turns the issue over as she pauses. His foot is moving on the floor. _Tap-tap-tap._

“Well,” she says, “if we’re going to, um, play together, then you’re submitting to me?”

“Yes,” he says.

“Totally?” she says.

“Yes,” he repeats. His foot has stopped tapping. “If you’re okay with that?” he asks.

“I’m okay with that if you’ll do exactly what I say,” she says. He nods, tells her his safe words. She makes up her own on the spot.

 

She is firm. Her first rule is that he doesn’t get to play alone. He doesn’t deserve to, not with all he’s done. “You haven’t _earned_ it,” she says and he inhales sharply. She’ll tell him when he has her permission to do anything alone. She might put it in a contract. He nods. Some of the tension ebbs out of him. After that, she doesn’t have to worry that he’ll accidentally kill himself, at least.

Her second rule is that she doesn’t want his belt. “Ugly,” she says that first night, dropping it on the floor. She refuses to choke or cut him, too. He hasn’t earned it yet. She’s afraid he’ll balk or wheedle, try to talk her into something she has no capability for, but to her surprise, he seems to want to be denied, to have to earn things. Instead, she insists that the ties they use be pretty. “I like when they’re beautiful,” she tells him, “not that you’re worth it.”

“No, I’m not,” he says, nodding, as she loops one of her scarves around his wrist and ties it to her headboard.

“But _I_ deserve beautiful things,” she says, tracing a hand over his wrist. Makes a big show of the knots being tight. Of course, her scarves are no threat to his wrists, not with his strength. The knots aren’t tight enough to hurt, either. It’s all pretend, a show she makes. Silk knots to replace the dig of leather belts, the bite of knives.

He is looking at her seriously when she turns her face to him. “Why are you such HYDRA trash, huh?” she asks, false venom in her voice. His pupils go wide when she climbs on top of him. “So disgusting.”

“Disgusting,” he echoes.

“Did I give you permission to talk?” she says archly. He shakes his head. “You don’t talk until I let you talk,” she says, running her hands over his torso. She can tell he tries not to make any sounds when she slides off his boxers, touches him, but his breathing hitches anyway. She rolls her eyes up and pauses. Lets the moment linger. “That’s pathetic. Are you in control of yourself yet?” she says. He does that sharp inhale again--it is a tell of strong arousal, she realizes--and nods.

  


She has no interest in latex or ropes or anything that could be potentially injurious because she has no clue what she’s doing. She lets him wait on her at home, of course. But their primary games are verbal. Years of snarking more innocently have prepared her well for finding his soft places, for mocking him as _weak, shallow, vain, HYDRA trash._ It’s easier because she doesn’t mean any of it. She’s like a grandma telling a dirty joke when she calls him a degenerate. She realizes she can’t pronounce more elaborate insults out loud and starts practicing them in the bathroom.

It is really difficult for her not to laugh sometimes. She has some form of imposter syndrome specific to kinkiness. Especially the first time she slaps his ass. She wants to shake with laughter, yell, _oh my God, dude, I feel so stupid rn._ But she looks at him and his expression is smoldering. _Really? That does it for you? Okay,_ she thinks. _I’ll Just Be Mediocre Kinky Girl then._

One night, he calls after a work trip, sounding dead on his feet. He’s asked about her day, but she hears the fatigue in his voice and cuts him off, uses the term they use to begin playing. “Stop bothering me and go to sleep,” she barks, hanging up the phone. Once the call is over, she lets herself dissolve into giggles. That begins a phase of her calling him at appropriate times of day or night to order him to eat and sleep. “Don’t abuse my property,” she tells him archly, then hangs up.

 

Nothing changes at work. If anything, he is slightly more obnoxious, popping his gum near her ear, being aggressively dismissive. She thinks he does it so she can call him names later. She hasn’t told anybody about them, yet. They’ve been doing this a few weeks when Jane catches her leaving him a voicemail in the supply closet.

“You’re a disgusting, dirty piece of trash--” she is hissing into the receiver when Jane opens the door and overhears her. Her face is worried. Darcy hangs up and explains things.

“So, you hit him?” Jane asks.

“Barely,” Darcy says. “I think they paddle people’s asses more in Baptist Sunday school. I’m so glad I can talk to you about corporal punishment in religion now, though. I’ve had a lot of thoughts about that as a formative experience and what it means for how people vote. Did I tell you about the governesses thing?” She has read some things online.

“The what?” Jane says.

“Before the whole catsuit leather look became a sex culture thing, the primary dominatrix fantasy in England was allllll about governesses. There were actually places in London where you could go and have a woman in a starchy apron spank you or whatever. I googled,” Darcy says.

“Oh,” Jane says. “So you leave him those messages?”

“Yeah, he listens to his voicemails when he gets lunch,” she says. “Mostly, I just tell him he’s a dirty mess. Which is not true. He’s actually very clean. My apartment’s never been so tidy.”

“What do you get?” Jane says.

“He walks around naked and rubs my feet a lot,” Darcy says, sighing happily. “And we do vanilla sex things, too. This might be the best relationship I’ve ever been in.” Jane makes a face.

“You’ve got those gnarly toes,” she teases. “He _is_ a glutton for punishment.”

“Shut up,” Darcy sasses.

“I can’t believe you’re porn Mary Poppins now,” Jane says.

“You wouldn’t believe how much of my approach I learned from just trying to get you to eat and sleep,” Darcy says, sticking out her tongue.

“Okay, disturbing much?” Jane says.

“Really, though, it feels very normal. I don’t mean any of the things I say and he likes it. I’ve had fights with boyfriends that were real. This isn’t that,” Darcy explains.  


 

Jane looks at her significantly when Brock comes in whistling after lunch. “Hey,” he says. He tears open a packet, tosses a square of gum in his mouth, and immediately pops it. Jane’s head swivels towards Darcy and her eyes go wide.

“Lying liar,” Jane mouths. Darcy snorts.

“What’d I miss?” Brock says.

“Science joke,” Jane says in a squeaky voice. She is trying not to laugh.

 

  
Brock has to go for some recertification exercise and then there is another thing for SHIELD and he is gone for two weeks. She finds that she misses him. The night he gets back, he looks bone-tired. He is sitting on her couch, zoned out, when she leans over and takes his hand. “What?” he says, then apologizes for his tone. “Sorry.” Darcy shakes her head.

“I think you’ve been good. Very good. Good boys deserve rewards,” she tells him.

“Reward?” he says. “What kind?”

“You’ll see,” she says. She leads him into the bedroom and tells him to undress, take off everything but his underwear, lay down. He lays back and looks at her. “Roll over,” she tells him slowly, spinning her finger around. He complies. She climbs on his hips and starts to massage his back, working out all the knots he’s accumulated, the tension in his shoulders.

He groans, then whispers out a _sorry._

“You’re allowed to talk tonight,” she says, then asks about one of his tattoos. He begins haltingly, then opens up. He relaxes under her touch, talking and telling stories, his face on her pillow. She puts pressure on his lower back and he grunts. She chases that sound as she works her way over his hips, his glutes, the backs of his legs, and as she slides her hand in his boxers at the end.

“Oh God,” he says afterwards. “That was nice.” She plants a kiss between his shoulder blades. “We could do that more,” he adds.

“Mmm-hmmm,” she agrees.

“But I can’t be good all the time,” he says, after a pause.

“I know,” she says.

 


	6. It's Safe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same 'verse as chapters 4 & 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Also, I'm befuddled: I think this is the end of this, but these people won't leave me alone, reminding me of things I mentioned in the first snippet and didn't elaborate on.

Things are good between them. Really good. She is happy. “Brock,” Darcy begins one day, when they are sitting on the couch. She tilts her voice up at the end. The question is implied.

“Yeah?” he says. It is Sunday afternoon. He has been with her since Thursday night.

“I wondered--” she begins, wanting to finish the sentence: _if you’d like to be exclusive with me? Tell people at work?_

 

Jane and Thor know, but they are sworn to secrecy. Sorta. In practice, Thor is good at secret-keeping and Jane can usually come up with an excuse when she starts to laugh at some subtext between them. Darcy doesn’t even know if Jack knows. Even though they go places together at night, spend all their weekends together, they aren’t a couple at work.

“You wondered?” he repeats and Darcy loses her nerve when she makes eye contact with him again. His eyes are beautiful--amber-brown with flecks of green--but sometimes they are very still and watchful. They seem flat in that moment; he looks guarded. She has spent enough time in Virginia that she is reminded of the green-brown of alligators in swamp water. So still and motionless _right until--right until_ \--it is too late to retreat.

Darcy retreats. She has gotten too used to the structure of the bedroom, where she knows exactly how he will answer any question and can bend and twist her questions like thread, make them safe and neat. Tied up in little bows. When she thinks of asking him a real question, she gets that slanted subfloor feeling again, only worse. She is afraid.

 

More than afraid.

 

She is petrified that she will lose him if she asks for too much. There are no rules in real life, no safe words. He could get up and walk out the door. Worse, she will see him at work. They cannot avoid one another.  “What you’d like for dinner?” she says stumbingly, covering for her odd behavior.

“Oh,” he says, shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

“You must want something,” she says. She reels off a list of types of food. By the time she is done, he is blinking at her.  “None of those?” she says, when he doesn’t interrupt.

“You pick,” he says. “You always pick better than me.” They have a running joke that her entree is always better than his, no matter where they go, no matter what they order.

 

She picks Chinese. It’s safe.

 

He is tender in bed that night; it is not unusual for him, but she is afraid to make too much eye contact. It makes her feel vulnerable. She listens to him snore and cannot sleep. Darcy turns, shifts, trying to get comfortable. Eventually, he slings one heavy arm over her in his sleep and she cannot move without potentially waking him, so she stops.

 

On Monday, they are having a normal lab day, only she is out of sorts. One, she is ashamed of her own cowardice. This ought to be a simple thing to ask for. Every meme, every online joke, every feminist principle, tells her she deserves someone willing to go public with her. It is a basic ask. Someone who spurns the ask isn’t worth your time, they say. _Dick is abundant and low value._

 

Except that what she has are feelings. Feelings are not abundant, but they last. Hers have a nagging tendency to hang around, troubling her for ages. She thinks she loathes the phrase _dick is abundant and low value._ It is only true if you don’t care what else comes with the dick. Which may be the point, her weirdly raging brain suggests.

 

“What’s wrong?” Jane says, when she swears at a data program that stubbornly refuses to save. Brock is somewhere else in the building, so there is no one watching to act as a check on her at that second.

“Does it ever occur to you that twitter feminism is completely fucking useless for real, actual life with human beings in it?” Darcy says.

“Twitter feminism?” Jane says.

“Well, all of it,” Darcy says, the words falling out like spilled change, verbal pennies clattering to the floor. “Nobody fucking knows what the right thing is to do with other human beings, so the advice everybody gives you starts to sound borderline sociopathic when you distill it down. You need other people, but other people are complex and you’re complex. So, they tell you this weird, narrow bullshit, like _be a submissive wife_ or _all men are trash fires_ or _everything will be better after the socialist revolution,_ you know?” she says. “Because there is no real universal advice, only bullshit slogans. So, everybody’s trying to squeeze themselves into the bumper sticker slogan boxes, only you have to sacrifice so much of your own complexity you might as well cut off your own toes like the stepsisters in the original _Cinderella._ Who definitely got told that everything would be better after the royal wedding, once they’d snagged the prince. But you still don’t have your feet!” she fumes.

“What are you talking about?” Jane says, baffled.

“Nevermind,” she huffs. “I’m getting a damn candy bar.”

 

Her Snickers bar gets stuck and she has to either buy a second one or hit the machine. She chooses both options. “You asshole!” she is muttering, slapping the glass, when Jack comes around the corner.

“Darl?” he says, “everything all right?”

“One of those metal loops has my Snickers,” Darcy grumbles. “Bastard vending machine.” He grins and offers to shake it for her. “Please,” Darcy says. “Also, kick it. I think it was made by Satan. Or a weight loss company.” He gets it loose, but Darcy somehow gets her sleeve stuck in the flap, gets grease on her favorite shirt, and just bursts into tears. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t sleep well and now everything is a big fuck you middle finger from the universe.”

They end up getting two Snickers   “Can I have a word?” Jack asks. Darcy nods. He walks her out the nearest exit. Outside there is one of those benches. Sun-bleached grey wood. The kind that snags your clothes. She sits anyway. The sun is nice. “He making you crazy?” Jack says.

“Huh?” Darcy says.

“Brock,” Jack says. The name itself is a sigh.

“Yes and no,” Darcy says.

“I couldn’t take it,” Jack says, “so I ended things with him after the Uprising.” Darcy feels herself go still. Brock has mentioned that they were together, years ago, but otherwise, they seem like she and Jane.

“Yeah?” she says, very carefully. _She will not push for information, she will not push--_

“Never thought we’d be apart. But I couldn’t do 'em,” he says slowly. “The things he wanted me to do, say. In bed,” he clarifies. Pauses. “I lived through that, too. HYDRA.”

 

There is a second of silence.

 

“It upset you,” Darcy says, thinking of all the times she has blithely called Brock _HYDRA trash_ without hesitation.

“I believe the kids call it triggering,” Jack says, humor edged with bitterness.

“I’m sorry,” Darcy says. She puts a lot of feeling into the word: _she is sorry he and Jack aren’t together, sorry about HYDRA, sorry about her own obliviousness because what kind of person is she, that she’s been able to do that without even being triggered in the fucking slightest?_

“So, if he’s asking you to do things that are upsetting---” Jack says gingerly.

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “Nothing we do has ever upset me.”

“You just beat up a vending machine, Darce,” he says.

“I’m trying to work up the nerve to ask him to commit to me,” she mutters.

“What?” Jack says.

“See? I can’t even say it out loud,” Darcy says. “I’m petrified he’ll say no.” Jack looks at her. He looks, she thinks, like a fish in that moment. His pretty mouth could make bubbles. “Sorry,” she repeats again. “It turns out I am a dumpster fire who can say and do those things.”

“Uhhhh, no,” Jack says, pulling himself out of his shock. “No. You’re not--” he stutters a little.

“Pffhhht,” Darcy says, waving her hand with the Snickers in it. “It hadn’t even occurred to me how it might sound to someone who’d been through your experience and didn’t want that. Blargh.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jack says. “Didn’t always not want it. It was a gradual thing. When we first got together, I was into things and it was all fun, but as time went on and things happened under HYDRA and he got hurt...” He sighs. “He still likes it in the same way, but me, I can’t do it anymore.”

“Your tastes changed?” she offers. He nods.

“Good way of thinking, yeah,” he says.

“Value neutral,” she supplies.

He sounds it out. “My tastes changed,” he repeats. “I think I can use that.”

 

They lapse into silence, eat Snickers.

 

“Even the spreaders?” he says incredulously, after a pause.

“Hmm?” she says.

“The spreader bars? You use those?” he asks. “He used to have a set.” She shakes her head.

“God, no. Jack, I have no discernible muscle tone, that doesn’t count as safe sex if my weak ass is supposed to be supervising somebody,” she tells him. He barks out a wild laugh. “I mostly just talk,” Darcy explains. “He doesn’t ask for much else. Well, we have a set of paddles. But your average ping-pong player has a tougher swing than me.”

“Bloody hell,” Jack says, laughing. “Bloody hell.”

“What?” Darcy says.

“He wanted to go to a sex club once. We did a walk-through like it was a real estate showing, just looking around, and I’m still not bloody over it,” Jack says. “All these people in this Nazi uniform gear, too fucking much like real HYDRA for me. I could have handled ping pong. Maybe. Or not.” He laughs wryly. “Depends on what he wanted to do with the balls.”

“I’m sorry,” she says, squeezing his hand. He grins at her.

“S’all right, you can laugh, pet,” he says. “I’ve been with someone great for a few years now. Robbie. We’re compatible in the things we like. That’s important, you know. I was worried you were doing what I did, trying to make it work when it was a poor fit, not wanting to tell him, because the other parts of the relationship were good.”

“How’d you know? Did he tell you about me?” she asks.

“No, but I knew from the moment we got here and he was--” Jack pauses.

“A total asshat?” Darcy offers. He does that laugh again.

“It’s a psychological tell. He puts up that front whenever he feels vulnerable,” Jack says.

“Yeah,” Darcy says. He takes her candy wrapper to throw it away in the nearby trash can. “Thanks.”

“No worries,” he says.

 

“I didn’t realize he was adjusting his preferences down to my meager skill set and upper body strength, though,” she muses out loud. This makes Jack laugh until he cries.

 

It is later, when she thinks about it, that Darcy wonders if maybe Brock’s made himself more palatable because he’s scared of losing someone again.

 

***

Brock sees the two of them come back into the lab and immediately wonders what Jack has said. Darcy keeps looking at him oddly and her eyes are red; also, she didn’t sleep well last night. That’s unusual. She is a good, heavy sleeper, unlike him, and he teases her about wrapping herself in blankets and practically getting stuck in them.

Brock gets tenser and tenser, the more he worries. He confronts Jack in the gym after work. He wants to know before he sees her for dinner. “You say something to Darcy?” he asks. Jack makes a noncommittal sound.

“We had a chat, yeah,” he says.

“About?” Brock feels himself tense.

“I was just checking in on her, mate,” Jack says.

“Because of me?” Brock says.

“I wanted to make sure she was okay,” Jack says, and it sets off something deep and hurt within him. He yanks the emergency pull-cord on the treadmill and spits out the words.

“You wanted to make sure _she_ was okay? Goddammit, Jack. Fuck.” He can feel himself getting upset.

“I don’t understand why you’re upset,” Jack says softly.

“What happened to being the only person I could trust to make sure _I_ was okay?” Brock says in a low voice. “Now you’re fucking around in my relationship? She’s good for me. Really good.”

“I thought she might need a sympathetic ear,” Jack says.

“Translation: Fucked Up Brock is at it again, huh? Asking people to get fucked up with him?” he bites out. He restarts the treadmill so people don’t stare.

“You know that’s not how I feel,” Jack says gently.

“No, it’s just how your gently soothing tone makes me feel,” Brock says bitterly. “Like the person I trust most thinks I really need a nice stay in a restful facility.”

“Haven’t heard that line in years,” Jack says dryly. This is an old fight. After the Uprising but before Helen Cho fixed his injuries, Brock needed more effort to feel anything, get sensation at all. Jack hated it, he could tell. Hated being the one in charge of doling out the increased pain, the stress of being responsible for his safety, when he had been through so much. Jack didn’t really want to play games anymore and he definitely didn’t want to be reminded of HYDRA torture during sex. Brock had seen the issues as entirely separate things in his head. His injuries messing him up had been the real issue in his mind, not his preferences. Their relationship unraveled under the stress of his new physical state and his decision to go undercover again, steal back things for Fury as Crossbones. That had upset Jack.

He’d half gone into the Cradle thinking that being healed might get them back together, but Jack had met Robbie.

Jack is much happier with Robbie, who likes to kayak and hike and is soft-spoken and gentle.

He is much happier with Darcy, who is also gentle, in her way. Brock is quiet as he runs, jaw tight. “I don’t mean to upset you,” Jack says.

“I know,” he says. He pauses. “Is she upset?”

Jack starts to laugh. “Nope.”

 

 

Brock gets to Darcy’s around six-thirty. She is making something in the blender. “I made you a green smoothie with all those things you like,” she says. “Just for fun. Kale and spinach and apples and blueberries and protein powder.” She gestures to the green drink on the counter. He slips his arms around her waist, kisses the top of her head. She sighs a little, a soft sound.

“Something wrong?” he asks. She shakes her head.

“Nuh-uh,” she tells him. She has washed the blender out and is now happily filling it again, with strawberries and frozen pineapple chunks and banana. He watches as she dumps in a scoop of protein powder, pours in orange juice.

 

They sit on the couch. “This is good,” he tells her, drinking his smoothie.

“Really?” she says, looking skeptically at the green liquid.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. He wants to tell her how happy she makes him, how content he feels now, in their little routines, in the way she manages him so carefully. He has picked up on her tendency to use control in only the softest ways. He sleeps better and eats better and is generally calmer than when he was single and lonely. He feels slightly like she’s found a door to his brain that he didn’t know existed before. He could have used that structure, that release valve when he was Crossbones and none of his usual coping mechanisms--gym, sex, sparring--worked right.

“C’mere,” she says, gesturing towards her lap. For a split-second, he thinks it’s a sexual request. But then she tells him to put his head on her thigh. He lays there, breathing, as she scratches circles in his scalp. “I want to ask you something,” she says.

“Yeah?” he says. He thinks _don’t ask me to leave._ Thinks about her sleepless night, why she’s been talking to Jack, the crying.

“You don’t have to say yes yet,” she hurries out. He turns his head slightly. “But I’d like us to be exclusive, tell people at work. If that’s okay?”

"Fuck," he says. He starts to laugh, his body shaking. “Lewis,” he says. “I love you.” She stares at him.

“What?” she says.

 


	7. It Has To Be A Romantic Vacation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos! Someone asked for more of this, so it's the same 'verse as chs. 4,5, & 6\. I think we're done now, but I keep saying that.

“I’m going to call Darcy,” Jane says, in full-blown panic mode as she looks at Thor and Sif in a Norwegian hotel room. “She’ll know what to do.”

“What is this about?” Sif whispers to Thor. “Will we need to fight someone?” She came down by BiFrost to see them and visit Oslo for the first time in a few centuries.

“No,” Thor says. “A full eighty percent of Midgardian stress is in matters of technology. It is very erratic. Nothing is ever in the cloud.”

“The clouds?” Sif says, looking up and frowning.

“The storage of online. It is a metaphor,” Thor says. Jane is tapping the phone and swearing. She has a panel talk tomorrow .

 

***

“Hi, Jane, how was your flight?” Darcy asks when she answers.

“We got here fine but I _forgot_ the presentation graphs,” Jane says. “Did I wake you?”

“Nope,” Darcy says cheerfully. “You're only two hours ahead from here. It’s okay. I can solve your problem. Hold on.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I know this is your fancy Moroccan vacation--” Jane is saying when Darcy covers the receiver.

“Honey, you can take off your blindfold and move around,” she tells Brock. He’s on the bed, posed. She’d verbally restrained him from moving at all--he likes the challenge of holding himself perfectly still without physical restraints—and covered his eyes with the sleep mask she kept from the plane on impulse.

“Is something wrong?” he says, taking the blindfold off and shifting into security guy mode as he sits up, shifts his legs.

“Nah, just a Jane tech issue. I’ll just be a few minutes. It might be good if you move around,” she says casually. It’s good for circulation with ties, she’s learned, so she’s made a habit of untying him and getting him to move around. He’s been still long enough anyway. “That _Frontline_ investigative thing about Azerbaijan and the Iranian Revolutionary Guard is streaming, too, if you want to watch that while I sort out Jane’s issues.” He loves that kind of stuff.

“Not on your vacation, sweetheart,” he says stubbornly. He has been specific about their vacation being romantic, scheduling her a hot-stone massage and researching historical sites for them to visit.

She’s already turned around, so he can’t see her fractional grin. He is adorable, she thinks. “Do I need to _order_ you to keep yourself occupied so I can concentrate?” she says over her shoulder, voice sharp. He looks up at her and grins.

“When you put it like that,” he says.

“You’re allowed to use the sheet,” she tells him in the same tone. “Since this is a vacation.”

It is a little chilly in the room and he’s completely naked. She doesn’t want him getting cold while he waits.

She is working on Jane’s tech problems when the TV clicks on and she grins to herself. It takes some time for her to find the errant file, hiding in a strange folder with one of those twelve-letter gibberish names. Probably accidentally uploaded. She asks Jane how Sif is, what they’ve seen of Norway, secretly grateful to have escaped the cold. She is wildly happy to have carved out this separate space for herself, where it is warm and he is here. “How’s your first vacation as a couple going?” Jane asks.

“It’s really nice,” Darcy says, “we went to a restaurant right on the edge of the desert. This place is gorgeous. It doesn’t even look real, honestly. It looks like a painted backdrop or something. I’ll have to show you the photos.”

She’s taken ones of him tonight, too, but she different plans for those.  As she’s working on her laptop to get the presentation to Jane, she texts him one with a note about how awful and horrible it would be if people knew how bad he really was; she has a read an article about dommes who act out elaborate fake blackmail exchanges online and thinks he might enjoy it.

 

Across the room, his phone dings and then she hears his intake of breath.

 

“Sent it now,” Darcy tells Jane. “Also, we need to talk about chebakia when I get back. Moroccan fried dough. It’s my new obsession. We gotta find a local supplier for my fix. It’s shaped into little roses of bread.”

“Aw,” Jane says. “How cute. Got it! Thank you, I love you, have fun,” she says.

“I will,” she says, looking over at him. “Bye, Jane. Love you.” She hangs up the phone and closes her laptop, standing up to stretch a little before she walks back to the bed. He’s turned off the television as soon as he heard her say goodbye. “Now,” she says, as he sits up and looks at her, “where were you _exactly?”_

“Is this a test?” he says, a particular light in his eyes.

“Oh, it’s definitely a test,” she tells him.

 

 

The hotel primarily caters to Western tourists, so there is a wine tasting the next afternoon, all Moroccan wines. She didn’t even know that was a thing. Darcy has decided _vin gris_ makes her as happy as chebakia when a woman sidles up to her. The woman’s husband has cornered Brock and is talking about stock portfolios or something. Brock is surprisingly savvy about things like that, so she hasn’t rescued him yet. She thinks he might be enjoying the conversation, based on how relaxed his shoulders look. “I bet you’re having a wild time, being with someone so fit,” the woman tells her with a suggestive laugh. Darcy nods. About once a week, someone makes an off-hand comment about how nice it must be, being with someone like him. She gathers that they assume he’s intense and domineering, in an oddly wishful way. She once caught a barista mouthing _oooh, daddy_ in his direction. But she’s gotten better at not laughing at people’s preconceived ideas.

“Oh, we have a lot of fun,” she says. There’s a corset in her suitcase he hasn’t seen yet.

“Uh-huh, I knew it!” the woman says, laughing loudly. Her noise catches Brock’s eye across the room. He moves over to Darcy’s side, makes pleasant conversation for a brief moment, and then leads Darcy out to the pool.

“I looked at that woman and thought you needed a hostage extraction,” he says, sliding her closer. Both his arms go around her body, careful of her wine glass.

“You were enjoying talking to her husband, though,” Darcy says.

“Eh,” he says, “he’s nice enough. I still want to look at your 401k when we get back.”

“Sure,” she says. She has absolutely no clue about any of these things. “I have one of those?” she asks. “You’re sure?” He laughs.

“How did you live without me?” he teases.

“We were broke for many years and also I could never find my car keys,” Darcy says. A few weeks ago, she’d discovered him putting up hooks near her door for her bag and keys as a surprise. She is five minutes late for work about half as often now. Every time she grabs her car keys, she feels a little bubble of happiness, that he is thinking about her. She leans up to his ear. “And I was very, very lonely and you saved me,” she whispers. Which is true. He gives her an intense look.

 

At dinner, he pauses during a conversation about local landmarks they both want to see. Licks his lips, inhales gently before he looks at her. “I was thinking,” he begins carefully, “that I would like it if we lived together. If you’re interested.” She is grinning and nodding and saying _yes_ before he can finish. He lights up.

“Whose apartment?” Darcy asks. She thinks she knows the answer. His clothes have been slowly migrating into her place for weeks. He seems genuinely more relaxed in an environment where her personality is present.

“With you,” he says, if that should be obvious.

“What should we do to celebrate moving in together?” she says, wondering if she has possibly consumed amounts of chicken and couscous that make corsets unadvisable. She wants to really be able to enjoy the moment when he sees her in it, his expression. She picked one with stretch, but still….

“What do you want to do tonight?” he says intently. She smiles at him. They alternate back and forth between their sets of preferences. There’s a lot of overlap now, but he is always checking in, sounding out whether or not she’s getting what she wants.

“I think I need to think about it,” she says, scrunching her nose. “Possibly with chocolate.”

“Mmmm-hmm,” he says. “Now or later, sweetheart?”

“I can’t decide,” she says, laughing. She has FOMO where dessert is concerned. “Can you pick?” she asks. He nods.

 

He picks dates and baklava and has them delivered in a box, settles the bill so they can be alone. They fill the dates with almond paste here, she discovers, as he is easing her out of her clothes on the bed. She makes a happy little noise. She loves almond. He looks up from where he is sliding her underwear down over her knees. “Did you open the box already? At least let me get you naked,” he says, laughing.

“Yes,” she says, “I was wrong about dates. Dates are fantastic. I love dates.”

“Don’t make me jealous of dates,” he grumbles, pulling his shirt off.

“Nope, don't be jelly, I love you more,” she says. “You’re in such good shape,” she tells him as he undresses. “It’s really stupid how in shape you are.” She wiggles her toes against his bare thigh.

“Fourth time,” he tells her. He teases her by keeping a running tally of the number of times she says how fit he is, in tones that are usually awestruck.

“This week?” she says, feeling like his math has to be wrong.

“Nope. Just today,” he says. “Relinquish your pastry box so I can take your shirt off.” She has it tilted on her chest.

“Can I just lie here while you do stuff to me, though?” she asks. “I sort of want to do that.”

“Yes,” he says, grinning. “Enjoy your dates.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Frank Grillo's character has a no good, very bad time in Morocco on his honeymoon with Jaimie Alexander in this movie, but oh my God, the country is beautiful, so I'm just ignoring all that and stealing the pretty filming locations for this happier story in my head, like a trash panda. Looooook at that lovely hotel room with a shirtless Frank Grillo in it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yqe9CccWZQE


	8. yup. don't care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For winchesterxgirl
> 
> Prompt: https://justanaveragepan.tumblr.com/post/184846311198/writing-prompt-30
> 
> Writing Prompt #30
> 
> “Do you not know who I am?”
> 
> “Yup. I just don’t care.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

Darcy was listening to music in the waiting room outside Fury’s office as he and Jane bickered. Fury wanted Jane to work for SHIELD. Jane was having none of it. Which, paradoxically, meant that Fury was offering Jane a pretty sweet deal: her own lab, 401k, healthcare, the works.

Meanwhile, Darcy was a little preoccupied with thinking about the Lumineers. Specifically, how hot the lead singer was. What was that guy’s name, anyway? She’d spent too much time watching him splash around in puddles in the video for “Ophelia” without gleaning that crucial bit of info.

Fury’s assistant looked at Darcy. “What kind of science to do you do?” he asked.

“The political kind,” Darcy said, grinning.

“Oh,” the assistant said.

“Mostly, I research rightwing authoritarianism,” Darcy said.  The assistant looked dubious, then nodded politely. Darcy didn’t actually work on that; sure, she’d once written a seminar essay on rhetorical appeals to tradition in authoritarian regimes, but she knew that was the kind of talk that made people at SHIELD a little jumpy. Hiding her grin, she went back to her music. Very faintly, she could hear Jane yelling. She would intervene if Jane reached a certain decibel level, but really, didn’t Fury _deserve_ to hear Jane’s lecture on the evils of research theft in person? The dart board they kept in London with photos of SHIELD officials she’d swiped off the internet had heard it enough. Darcy had heard it enough.

They were still waiting for a verdict from the other room when a phalanx of men in tactical gear came into Fury’s office. “Need to see the director,” the man at the front said. The assistant looked a smidge nervous at his tone and stare.

“Well, Commander Rumlow, I’m afraid---” the assistant began.

“Immediately,” he added. Darcy snorted. Loudly. Several heads turned in her direction. She was unwrapping a Tootsie roll that she’d just located at the bottom of her messenger bag. So far, the highlight of this SHIELD visit. She realized the commander guy was staring at her. “What was that?” the guy said.

“Do you just not understand the social cues for _your boss is already in a meeting?_ Or were you just raised by assholes?” she said, popping the candy in her mouth.

“Do you not know who I am?” he said. Darcy sized him up as the lead captain of the jack-boots, given how the other guys were now looking at each other nervously.

“Yup,” she said, chewing. “I just don’t care.”

He gaped at her. His mouth actually opened and shut again as he took a breath and then his head tilted. Darcy started to laugh again. “You look sorta like a puppy seeing a Rumba for the first time, my dude,” she said. “Are you unfamiliar with people not being impressed with your whole _I’m a secret fed here to rendition to you to the moon_ schtick? Because most of us--out there in the real world--think you’re draconian, unlawful, and let’s be honest, a little ridiculous-looking. _Dirty Harry_ left the zeitgeist in, what, 1981? Human rights are trending now. You’re a dinosaur--” she was saying, when Jane came busting out of Fury’s office with Kool-Aid Man velocity.

“Let’s go!” Jane yelled. Several of the agents actually scattered. Darcy hopped up, beaming.

“And that’s my cue to skedaddle,” she said.

 

***

She was carrying groceries into the apartment when she looked up and saw the scarred man standing in her and Jane’s living room. Darcy dropped the paper bag--she would vaguely remember the sound of cracked eggs oozing through the brown paper onto the tile floor of the foyer as she panicked--and scrambled for her taser. “Get back!” she yelled at Rumlow. “Get back!”

“Do you know who I am?” he said, moving towards her. “Miss Lewis--”

“Yes,” Darcy said venomously, “I don’t care.” She hit him with the taser. He looked down at his chest. The prongs were obviously electrified, but _he wasn’t falling._ Darcy began to slide backwards on oozing egg whites, making a frantic sound. He sighed. Prying away the prongs as if they were nothing, he inhaled.

“I am not here to hurt you and Foster,” he said in a calm voice. That was when Darcy heard Jane’s voice in the hallway.

“Jane, run!” she yelled. Of course, Jane being Jane, she ran _towards_ Darcy, nearly barrelling her over.

“Ooof,” Jane said, when she and Darcy collided and ended up in a slimy heap on the floor. “What the fuck--?” Darcy pointed with the taser.

“HYDRA murderer,” Darcy hissed. “I meant run away, idiot! It’s Crossbones from the news!” Jane looked up.

“Oh,” she said. “That’s Brock. He’s our new security. Did I not tell you about Fury’s phone call?” Jane said innocently.

“I’m hiding out from HYDRA, actually. Not murderer, triple agent,” he said dryly. “Been, uh, rescuing things HYDRA stole for Fury. I didn’t want to call attention to myself by lingering in your hallway. My pardon’s not exactly sorted.”

“No,” Darcy said, mortified.

“You want a hand up?” he said. “I bet you’re wondering why tasers don’t work on me?” He smiled then, as he was lifting Darcy off the floor. He turned to help up Jane as Darcy stared.

“Oooh, you tased him? We have a joke that she only tazes people we like, that’s kind of a good omen,” Jane said. “It didn’t work?”

“I’ve got a little bit of nerve damage from my undercover work,” he said, gesturing towards his face. She realized he had burns on his arms, too. He looked at Darcy. “I’ll replace your eggs,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Oh my God.” She felt like her brain was on a time delay. He was just smiling at her like it was nothing. His burn scars twisted when he smiled.

 

***

Darcy was wildly bored at this costume party with a bunch of Jane’s science buddies. She usually enjoyed costume parties, but she was out of sorts lately. She didn’t know why. It was just the oddest feeling of--of _nothing._ Blah. Dullsville. Even someone drunkenly cussing about their “batshit crazy asshole advisor” had failed to make her laugh. She was grabbing a wine cooler when a voice behind her said, “You don’t look happy.”

“No,” Darcy said, putting the bottle back in the big bucket of ice and smiling. She looked over her shoulder. The guy standing behind her had a black mask on. “I’m pretty bored,” she told him. “The person I wanted to be here with left town on me suddenly.”

“Doesn’t sound like that great of a guy,” he said, sighing. “Maybe you shouldn’t give him the time of day.”

“Nah. He had a legal situation to work out,” Darcy supplied. “I was always going to forgive him.” The guy in the mask nodded.

“You wanna dance?” he said.

“Here?” she said, looking around. There was music, but it wasn’t that kind of a party. Mostly people were talking about hypotheses, theorems, and grant funding.

“Nah,” he echoed, “hallway?”

“Sure,” she said. They were swaying in the hallway, each with one of her earbuds in one ear when she sighed. “I missed you,” she told him. “Like crazy.”

“Yeah?” he said. She could tell he was smiling under the mask. “Even though it’s only been two weeks and I have a terrible habit of sneaking up on you?” he asked.

“I’ve started to like that, actually,” Darcy said.

“Really?” he said. “I’ve got a little bit of a surprise for you. I’m hoping you’ll be happy.”

“Okay,” she said. When he lifted the mask onto his dark hair, Darcy made a sound of surprise. He looked at her with gentle eyes. Brown with flecks of green. The skin around them was unscarred now. Smooth and tan and exactly the way he’d looked when she accused him of being a dinosaur with a _Dirty Harry_ complex. She was staring when he swallowed.

“You do know who I am, right?” he said. “Cho fixed me up while Fury settled the pardon thing.”

“Yes,” Darcy said laughing, “And I don’t care.” She leaned up and kissed him. “You were perfect before,” she whispered.

“That seems like a stretch, but I’ll take it,” he said.

 

 

 


	9. Fall Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taserbones for Winchesterxgirl: Two different universes, two radically different uses of the phrase “You can’t just stand there and look at me like that and not expect me to fall apart!”
> 
> Prompt link: https://onlybooksandrandomthings.tumblr.com/post/184842867926/you-cant-just-stand-there-and-look-at-me-like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

_prompt fic i: laughter_

 

“What are you doing tonight?” Jane asked Darcy over the phone. Darcy made a noise; she was juggling her messenger, travel mug, her keys, and a bag of work stuff in the hallway outside her apartment.

“Whoops--no plans,” Darcy said, unlocking her front door.

“No hot date with Rumlow?” Jane teased, as Darcy got inside and locked the door. Darcy had casually gone out with the ex-STRIKE Commander a few times. They’d met when Fury had hidden him as she and Jane’s security because HYDRA wanted him dead.

“No,” Darcy said, sighing quietly. It was extremely weird, but as near as Darcy could tell, Brock’s CV was something like: realized Pierce’s “secret career opportunity” was really HYDRA, freaked the hell out, went to Fury, got serum’d, moved up to STRIKE Alpha while feeding info to Fury and Hill, let Cap and friends escape a few times, was stuck with being the guy who lauched the helicarriers so they’d get all the HYDRA on them, had a helicarrier fall on him while maintaining said cover to grab Pierce at Triskelsion, survived that (surprise!), Hill broke him out of the hospital, went undercover as a mercenary called Crossbones to steal back SHIELD stuff, and finally, was patched up by Helen Cho and stashed with Jane and Darcy. Presumably until things had cooled down enough for him to be useful to Fury again. Brock was getting phoned in to regular SHIELD meetings.

 

He didn’t like to talk about any of it.

 

Darcy could get that. But it made date conversation hella awkward. She was always feeling like she lacked cool but safe things to talk about with him. Most of his work friends were dead or Nazis. Or actual dead Nazis. He didn’t have many hobbies or talk about interests. He worked, he went to the gym, he ate a lot of protein. It wasn’t the first time she’d been around someone quieter than her---Bruce Banner was adorably shy--but Brock’s quiet felt so _heavy._

 

“What’s wrong?” Jane said, interrupting her train of thought. Had she been that preoccupied, Darcy wondered?

“I just wonder if the right person for him, you know? He’s so quiet sometimes. What if he’s not interested, but afraid to end things with me?” Darcy offered.

“He jumped out of planes and shot people before his feet touched the ground,” Jane scoffed. “He can’t be afraid of you.”

“Excuse me, I’m frightening without coffee,” Darcy sassed. “You’ve said so.”

“Yes,” Jane said. Her shudder was almost audible. “Terrifying. But he doesn’t know.”

“Very funny,” Darcy said. “I’m going to drunk spa,” she told Jane jokingly. Since she was alone tonight, Darcy decided to multitask. Sorta. She’d condition her hair, throw on a face mask, maybe paint her toenails, provided she didn’t drink too much Chardonnay first. She could definitely sort Jane’s notes after three glasses, but not wrangle polish. They talked on the phone for awhile, although Darcy had to put Jane on speaker while she slathered her hair in conditioner and put on a heat cap. It was silver foil. “I look like a baked potato,” she told Jane.

“You love potatoes,” Jane said.

“Brock doesn’t even eat those,” Darcy said.

“Is that literal or a sex metaphor?” Jane teased.

“I don’t even know yet, which seems wrong,” Darcy said. “I really wanted some of that. I’ve seen his pre-2015 gym selfies before he was fake-dead. Muscles on top of muscles.”

 

Darcy was shimmying around the apartment in her fuzzy slippers and sorting Jane’s notes, singing along to her music. She had the tv on, too, so she missed Brock unlocking the door with his security guy key. Dropping a piece of paper covered in Jane’s scribbles, she reached down to pick it up and then saw a pair of feet in her line of sight. Darcy shrieked when she realized there was someone frozen on the other side of her couch. “Ahhhh!” she said, jumping. “What are you doing here?” she said. Brock started to laugh. His body was literally shaking as he leaned against the back of her couch. “Are you laughing at me?” Darcy asked. She had never seen him laugh like that before. He was actually beaming at her. It changed his whole face. Darcy put her hands on her hips. “It’s not that funny! I just have frizz, okay?” she said. She meant her heat cap.

“You can’t just stand there and look at me like that and not expect me to fall apart!” Brock said, still laughing. “I wanted to surprise you—why are you green?” he asked. _Oh God,_ Darcy thought, remembering her face. He hadn’t seen her like this before. Somehow, it was worse that they hadn’t had sex yet. She didn’t even have the usual buffer of him being into her boobs to counteract this whole situation.

“It’s a face mask,” she stuttered out.

“Yeah?” he said. His head swiveled around the room. “You watch _The Bachelor?”_ His eyebrows had gone up when he spotted the tv.

“Jane and I were hate-watching it, but then Thor dropped in,” Darcy explained.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “So, this is what you do when I’m not around?” He was smirking at her.

“Shut up,” Darcy said, feeling all flustered. Since when did he smirk?

“You want Chinese?” he offered. “I brought Chinese.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Yes?” She was a smidge tipsy. “I’ll just go rinse this off?”

“Hey, don’t do that. Doesn’t your conditioner need more time?” he said.

“Wh-hat?” Darcy said. He leaned around the doorframe of the kitchen.

“Did you think my hair was this good by accident?” he said. “Just get in here, tell me which one of these you want?”

 

She ended up curled up on the couch with him--still in her ridiculous face mask and potato-foil hair cap. Brock grinned and thumped the side of the cap. It crinkled. “Why are we watching this?” she asked, as one of the contestants started to cry on their dream date. “Do you even like this?” Darcy asked him.

“I’m enjoying trying to tell these women apart,” he said. “Imagine if you had to take a shot every time a blonde girl cried?”

“You’d need a new liver,” Darcy supplied. He leaned down and kissed her neck. “Ooooh,” Darcy said stupidly. “You know, I was worried that you didn’t like me all that much?” He chuckled.

“Well, I wasn’t entirely convinced, but then I saw you tonight. It was something about that ratty nightshirt--” he began.

“Hey! Rude,” she told him.

“Baby, it has holes in it,” he said.

“Well, if I’d known you were going to surprise me, I wouldn’t--” she said, then squeaked a little. Brock’s hand had slid under her shirt. “Mmmm, that’s nice,” Darcy said, tipping her head back to kiss him before she realized she was still pretty unkissable. “I really need to wash my face and my hair,” she said sadly. “I’m all green.”

“Can I join you?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said, grinning.

 

 

 

***

_prompt fic ii: heartbreak….sorta_

 

She was packing all her things when he got back from his second round at the gym. “Damn,” she muttered to herself. She was two minutes from being gone.

“You don’t have to go tonight,” he said.

“No, I think I should,” she said. She was tired of their fights. Last night’s had been the worst they’d ever had. She’d called him every name she could think of-- _selfish, cheating, emotionally-unavailable, vain, piece of shit--_ and he’d slept on the couch, radiating hostility, before heading off to beat the hell out of somebody at one of his gyms. They seemed incapable of agreeing on anything lately. Darcy suspected he was fooling around with someone. She’d heard rumors at work, even as isolated as she was in Jane’s lab, where it was just the two of them. And then a few days ago, she’d caught him leaning over the desk of one of the cute blonde techs. The new tech was twenty-three and right out of college. He’d been smirking. Darcy knew the social significance of that smirk. That’s when she’d started taking the rumors seriously.

“I don’t understand why you’re going, I told you, there’s nobody--” he began, before she rolled her eyes.

“At least respect me enough not to lie to my face. Did you think I couldn’t hack your phone?” she asked. He went a little pale.

“You hacked my phone?” he said, trying to turn it back on her or something.

“I dunno,” she said, playing dumb, “it must be some guy’s phone, there were all those nudes on it. Whose could they be?” She zipped up her bag. “I’m out,” she said. Darcy tossed her key on his bed and walked out into the living room. He followed, arms folded. “I think this is all my stuff, but if you find anything else, just...throw it away?” she called back.

“So, that’s how it’s going to be?” he said. She didn’t reply. Why bother? She determined that the best thing to do was avoid him in the future. She was going to discuss it with Jane as soon as she got to the apartment.

  


Jane traded their always-meant-to-be-temporary DC lab in for a more permanent SHIELD lab in Norway two weeks later. That made everything easier. Darcy could get used to the cold. She started up her on-again, off-again Ian thing. There were no fireworks, but also no tears.

They were at a museum in Oslo on a daytrip, just a fun one, when the news about the HYDRA Uprising flashed across Darcy’s phone screen. “Darce? Darce, what’s wrong?” Jane said, looking away from an exhibit. “What happened?” she asked.

“Something bad,” Darcy said. “Really bad.” Across the room, Ian was making his way towards them.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, love?” he said in a concerned voice, frowning down at her.

“Uh, something at SHIELD, you should call Thor, ASAP,” Darcy told Jane.

She heard a bevy of increasingly horrifying reports over the next few weeks: that he was dead, that he was HYDRA, that he was not dead, but still HYDRA, before someone finally called to say he’d been feeding information to Hill and Fury when everything went sideways. They’d all been trying to stop Pierce and Project Insight, things had just gone a little wrong. She didn’t know how wrong until she saw the news reports about Crossbones and had to sit down.

 

Fury told Jane he wanted her to form the core of SHIELD’s new R&D team. “He wants us based in DC?” Jane said tentatively. “Are you okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Darcy said, organizing their stuff as a pre-move thing. She’d suspected as much. Jane crossed her arms and looked at Darcy intently.

“Hello, your ex is neither a Nazi nor a terrorist,” Jane whispered, so Ian--watching football on a laptop--wouldn’t overhear. “He was just stealing stuff back from HYDRA.”

“Yes, yes, very cloak and dagger,” Darcy said. “Or skull and crossbones or whatever, but Jane, you’re forgetting--”

“You were crazy about him, you cried for months,” Jane hissed. “Like, every single time he’s in an international incident, you’re a basketcase--”

“Pot meet kettle,” Darcy said. “As I was saying, you’re omitting one thing.”

“What?” Jane said.

“Still a cheating skank,” Darcy supplied. “Possessor of a wandering wang, a dirtbag, a guy with a million nekkid photos of other women,” she added.

“Oh,” Jane said. “I forgot.”

“I didn’t,” Darcy said.

  


Still, she was unprepared to see him. Especially with his new scars. The first time, it was one of those new SHIELD-wide staff meetings that were really motivational seminars in disguise. He looked so different, she actually wondered if it was him, squinting. He was across the auditorium, so it was possible she could have the wrong guy...but then his eyes met hers for a fraction of a second and then resumed their indifferent sweep of the room. Definitely Brock.

They only saw each other from a distance usually. She would smile politely and nod, thinking _no need to be a total bitch,_ as she and Ian left the building to fetch Jane’s lunch or Jane’s new equipment, and even once, Thor, when he’d gone MIA at the dog park. So, Darcy felt pretty comfortable when she ran into him in the breakroom alone. She recognized the back of his head, the way he tended to carry himself. Plus, his hair was still really nice. Good for him, her brain supplied, he’d always had beautiful hair. “Hi,” she said. Brock looked over his shoulder.

“Hello,” he said flatly.  Giving him a brief smile, Darcy started making she and Ian and Jane’s individual coffee orders. She’d slotted Ian’s medium roast pod into the machine when she realized Brock was looking at her. His eyes flicked away immediately.

As the machine sputtered and brewed, she decided to clear the air. “Listen, I know it’s difficult to see each other at work--” Darcy began, trying to channel a more mature, polished version of herself that must exist _somewhere._ If she kept her voice calm, she thought, she wouldn’t get upset next to this coffee pot in the SHIELD breakroom nearest their lab in the new compound. He scoffed, pulling her out of her stay calm mantra. “What is it?” Darcy said, genuinely confused. Had she hurt his feelings somehow?

“You can’t just stand there and look at me like that and not expect me to fall apart!” he said, in a louder voice.

“I don’t understand,” Darcy said.

“You think I don’t feel your pity? I see the way you look at me, when you’re wandering around with that Braithwaite guy---” Brock began.

“His name is Boothby,” Darcy said.

“Oh, yeah, that matters,” Brock said. “You can take your fucking pity--”

“Oh bite me, asshole, I don’t feel that sorry for you,” Darcy said.

“Oh yeah?” he said.

“You’re still an immature manslut, obviously,” she shot back.

“Goddammit, it’s been how long and you’re still on that? I told you, those weren’t new,” he said. “They were deleted. Deleted.” He’d sounded out the word slowly. That made Darcy get in his face.

“What about Tech Girl, huh? Madison or whatever her name was--” Darcy said. He snorted.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I shot that woman and you’re still jealous?” he said.

“What?” Darcy said.

“She was HYDRA, I wasn’t actually into her, I was just getting information,” he said.

“I know what you were getting,” Darcy said.

“She’s in jail!” he yelled.

“I’m sure it’s nice to have a pen pal,” Darcy said sharply. Then she took her coffees and left. He was still sputtering in anger. “Ugh, you won’t believe what just happened!” Darcy announced, walking into the lab.

“Let me guess, Brock?” Jane said, sipping her coffee. “Because you forgot my sugar.”

“Shit,” Darcy said.

“This is how it starts,” Jane said.

“Nuh-uh, no way, he can keep his HYDRA girlfriend in prison,” Darcy said. Jane rolled her eyes.

“I’m not breaking up with Ian for you after he catches the two of you having sex in here or something,” Jane said.

“Please, I would never,” Darcy said. “He would, though. He’s such a smug---”

 

Jane sighed.

 


	10. can I give you a hug?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Winchesterxgirl.
> 
> Dialogue Prompt 23  
> “Can I give you a hug?”  
> “I’m sorry?”  
> “You look sad and I was wondering if a hug might make you feel better.”
> 
> Link: https://imaginecreateshare.tumblr.com/post/184834988569/dialogue-prompt-23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos! I love writing these short prompts

Darcy was going to cry in an airport. She did not want to cry in an airport. Particularly because her connecting flight had been delayed, she had six hours to kill, and the guy at the airport Cinnabun had just declined her debit card. “Please work, please work,” she murmured internally, as he tried a second swipe and she tried not to die of mortification. It had been a very bad time in general. She’d just lost her first post-Jane “big girl” job due to budget cuts at her company, she’d tripped last week, thinking about all her job applications, and broken her almost new glasses, her roommate was hinting she should vacate (Jenna had a friend who wanted Darcy’s bedroom) and she was seriously _seriously_ spiraling into a funk. That had been when Jane had suggested cashing in her own frequent flyer miles to get Darcy to DC. Jane had her a permanent lab at SHIELD now and Darcy could work for her again. They’d even sent movers to pack up her sheets and her underwear and ship them in a big crate. So, you know, a tiny bit better? But Darcy couldn’t _bear_ to ask Jane for some travel money. Jane would have given it, but Darcy had been pretending she was doing just fine, just fine living in California, so it hurt to ask. Too much.

“Umm, it’s a no,” the poor guy working at Cinnabun said to her. Darcy felt her eyes well up.

“Hey, I got it, no problem,” a voice said behind her. An arm reached around her shoulder, close enough to graze her arm briefly, with a few folded bills.

“Thank you,” Darcy said, as she got her order. _God, this is humiliating._ “Thank you so much,” she repeated. She turned. _Even more humiliating._ The guy who’d paid for her cinnabun was really cute. Like, strikingly cute. He had dark hair, warm eyes, and was just generally yum. _Damn it._ She felt her own face waver as she tried to return his smile.

“Hey, you okay?” he said, sort of shepherding her a few feet away, off to the side of the line.

“Yeah, yeah,” Darcy said, blinking and trying to get control of herself. “I really appreciate that--it’s been a difficult time. I just lost my job and I’m flying here to work for a friend who’s always bailing me out and it’s so embarrassing, I haven’t told her I’m really struggling,” she rambled. She realized that cute guy was fiddling with his ear nervously. _Oh God, I’ve terrified him with my crazy._ He looked at her almost sheepishly.

“Can I give you a hug?” he said.

“Huh?” Darcy said.

“You’re sad and I was wondering if a hug might make you feel better?” he offered, giving her an oddly gentle look.

“Yeah,” Darcy said, practically falling into his extended arms. Which were sturdy and warm.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, rubbing her back soothingly. She tried to talk and actually burst into tears in earnest. She sobbed against his neck as he rubbed her hair. “Hey, hey, it’s gonna be okay. Really, it will,” he repeated. She tried to breathe deeply to calm down. He was wearing a light scarf. It smelled like cologne and was soft against her cheek.

 

He stayed with her while she ate the cinnabun and could laugh again. “No more of that, though,” he told her, pointing to the paper bag as he stood up and adjusted the scarf around his neck.

“Are you besmirching the hallowed cinnabun?” Darcy joked.

“It has no nutritional value, sweetheart,” he said.

 

After he left, Darcy realized she didn’t know anything but his first name. He hadn’t offered her his number. Or even an email. It made her feel a little dejected. But who could blame him?

 

***

“What happened to your comms, mate? You cut out, we have half a transmission,” Jack said, as he joined the rest of them. They were in an adjoining terminal, dressed as business travelers.

“Lost it,” Brock told him, as he sat down and reached for the laptop he’d left behind when he’d tailed Darcy Lewis for SHIELD.

“So,” Martinez said, “we follow her to DC, see if she connects with anybody, gets any weird transfers? Gotta say, she don’t look like much of a threat.”

“Standard operating procedure,” Jack supplied. “She’s over-leveraged, with all her student loan debts. That makes her a potential target for blackmailers. There are people who’d love to bribe her for Foster’s research.” Martinez nodded.

“Chinese?” he suggested.

“Chinese, Russians, anybody. Private companies, too,” Rumlow said, tapping the computer screen.

“What are you doing?” Jack said.

“Getting a seat near her on the plane,” Brock said.

“That isn’t authorized, is it?” Martinez whispered to Jack.

“Nope,” Jack said, raising his eyebrows. Brock got up and walked over to a counter.

 

***

Darcy was struggling with shoving her bag under her seat when someone cleared their throat. “You need a hand?” he said. Darcy looked up.

“Hi,” she said, mixing surprise and delight. “I didn’t realize we were on the same flight!”

“I might’ve bribed a disgruntled flight attendant to get a seat next to you,” he said, sitting down. Then he leaned down and easily slid her bag under the seat. “I’ve got noise-cancelling headphones, too,” he said, smiling. “You want to borrow them?”

“Are you a miracle?” Darcy said, laughing. He squished the headphones over her face teasingly. She blushed. _I definitely have to get his number. Like, bad Darcy, you’re failing at life if you don’t._

“Me?” he said. “Nah. Just your regular, non-angelic, but devastatingly handsome guy.” Darcy tried to repress her giggle. Really, she tried. She never got to use those headphones, though. They talked for the whole flight. When they emerged from the plane into the terminal, she grinned at him.

“This is my number,” Darcy said, pulling out a card.

“I, uh,” he said, taking it from her gently and looking at the purposefully tacky card. It said _Science Wrangler._ She’d had them made in London and still had a few left; she’d brought them as a joke for Jane. She’d already written her cell number on the back while he was snagging them tiny Cokes from a flight attendant.

“I’m going to hear from you, right?” she said.

“I think we’ll definitely be seeing each other,” he said, but she thought his expression was less happy than it had been before.

“Okay, then, John, I’ll be seeing you,” Darcy said.

“Bye, Darcy,” he said swallowing.

  


***

She saw him, of course. It was her first week at SHIELD and a group of tactical-clad guys passed the lab’s glass window, trailing Fury like ominous ducklings. Darcy was sorting through emails when she felt compelled to look up and realized he was among them. He glanced at her slightly, grimaced, and immediately looked away. “Holy shit,” Darcy said. She’d mentioned him to Jane. “That’s him!”

“What?” Jane said.

“John from the airport. That’s him!” Darcy said, pointing to his retreating back. She’d told Jane about her airport meltdown finally.

“Which one?” Jane said.

“The one next to Fury,” Darcy said.

“That’s the head of STRIKE Alpha,” Jane said, puzzled. “I don’t think his name is John.”

“No,” Darcy said bitterly. “Of course it’s not!” She stood up, furious.

“What are you doing?” Jane asked.

“Confronting him---as soon as I find out his actual name,” she said, sitting back down. She’d realized her plan to find him and yell at him had a flaw. Luckily, she had Cameron Klein as a new lunch friend. Darcy picked up her phone. “Hi, Cam, I need a serious favor.  The name of the STRIKE Alpha guy--dark hair, around 5’10, definite grimace--Rumlow?” Darcy said into the phone. Jane gave her the thumbs up and a nod. “Do you have an office number?” she asked Cam.

“You got it?” Jane said, when she hung up.

“Yup, Cam has what he calls a ‘longstanding issue,’ so win for me,” Darcy said. “He does paperwork after three.”

 

***

“You!” Darcy said, spotting him talking to a tall guy in the hallway. He looked at her.

“Miss Lewis,” he began. “Why don’t we take this into my office?”

“Listen, Bob,” Darcy said, catching the B. Rumlow next to his door as they walked in.

“Bob?” he said.

“Or Bill or whatever your name is, you liar,” she said.

“Brock,” he said. “My name is Brock.” He’d turned to face her, leaning against his desk.

“Well, no wonder you run around giving women a fake normal name,” she said. “You stalked me in an airport.”

“We were just checking up on you for Foster’s safety,” he said.

“So Fury ordered it?” she asked.

“It was required, with your student debt load that puts you at risk of blackmail--”

“Translation: it was about Jane’s research, not Jane herself,” Darcy supplied. She crossed her arms and glared.

“Possibly,” he shrugged. “But you’re cleared. Everything checked out.”

“So not the point!” she fumed.

“It’s not?” he said, shifting forward.

“You--you _booped_ my nose, you con artist!” she yelled. He’d done this really cute thing with her on the plane, when she’d gotten his headphones stuck in her hair. He sighed.

“Yeah,” he said.

“I’m one hundred percent sure that’s not required, I’ve met Coulson,” she told him. “You hugged me. You flirted! I really wanted you to call! Making someone think you’re into them for surveillance is just mean.” She turned to leave and he cleared his throat.

“I, uh, wasn’t supposed to,” he said. She looked back.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t supposed to flirt with you,” he said. “I wasn’t even supposed to talk to you.” He took a few steps and shut the door. “But I wanted to.” He looked down at her.

“Oh,” Darcy said, slightly transfixed by his expression. He grinned at her slowly.

“You have no idea how many times I thought about calling you,” he said.

“You’re paying for dinner, just to make it up to me,” she told him.

“What if I _make_ dinner?” he bargained.

“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing,” she said.

“What am I doing?” he asked.

“Getting me to your place.”

“Yeah,” he said, smirking.


	11. cold feet (part i)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For winchesterxgirl
> 
> “I should kill you where you stand.”  
> “Yes, but you won’t. Because you — to be perfectly blunt — can’t.”
> 
> Prompt link: https://corvidprompts.tumblr.com/post/184861848772/i-should-kill-you-where-you-stand-yes-but-you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! This is not a cute one, so trigger warnings for the Snap, angst, and people having slightly dubcon-ish sex to numb pain. In this AU, Crossbones never died, because he channeled his energies into a criminal empire, instead of revenge. But everything else is pretty canon-compliant. Part I of a multi-chapter thing that....just grew like a vine on me.

Darcy was having the same nightmare she’d been having for months, ever since the Snap. She was in the lab, talking animatedly, but she couldn’t hear her own voice, just see her bright, unnatural expression. She looked like a puppet on strings, waving her mug around.

“Darcy?” Jane said. When Darcy looked up from the coffee pot, Jane was already turning to ashes.

“Jane! Jane!” she yelled, but there was nothing she could do. After that, the nightmare turned into a blur of images: car crashes, unrest on the news, not being able to do anything but leave messages for her mother until the system automatically said _inbox full. Inbox full. Inbox full._

She woke up sweating again, the nausea washing over her. Jane was gone, her mom was gone. Darcy was alone in the world. She had no other family, besides some distant cousins.

She had no job without Jane and would have no money, once the bit of cash in her bank account from Jane’s grants dried up, and it wasn’t safe to travel alone.

She had been trying to find Erik Selvig when she stumbled across something on the dark web: an offer to hack a government database. A former SHIELD database, missed in the SHIELD info dump after the HYDRA Uprising. That might have contact information for anyone she knew---Thor? Natasha Romanoff, who she’d met once? Darcy thought she could do it. Also, the cops were a little overwhelmed at the moment, so the likelihood of getting arrested seemed slim.

As it turned out, she should have been more worried about what would happen if there were no cops to protect her from people who weren’t cops. Like the men who abducted her outside her apartment on a Tuesday a few days after she finished the job.

Several hours later, the hood was pulled off and she blinked as her vision swam. She was in a strange room. One of the men handed Darcy her glasses. “Are you cops?” she said, coughing a little. There was soft laughter.

“No,” a voice said. “Not in the slightest.” Darcy’s head jerked up. She knew that voice from somewhere...the man standing with his back to her turned around. She knew that face, too. From the news. She and Jane had always joked about how they’d met an infamous criminal boss in New Mexico, years before he’d gone “bad,” when he was just a regular SHIELD agent.

“Crossbones? You kidnapped me?” she said dimly. He smiled, scars twisting.

“You remember me,” he said. “Good, we can get down to business.”

“Excuse me?” she said before she could stop herself.

“Oh,” he said smiling again, “you don’t know? You called attention to yourself when you accepted my ad. I like your work--”

“You like my work?” she said, feeling herself go numb. Ever since he’d escaped that hospital, Crossbones had been known as a mercenary. Steve had hunted for him occasionally, but they’d never managed to catch him. The Snap had been advantageous to him, probably. He was definitely the kind of asshole who thought “chaos is a ladder” was a mission statement. Whenever he was mentioned on the news, it was in comparison to infamous mobsters and crime lords: Al Capone, El Chapo, various New York mafia.

“So, now we’re going to work together. Or you’re going to work for me. Lots of people do,” he said, smiling again. “I have a wide circle of influence.”

“I should kill you where you stand,” Darcy said. For a second, she felt like herself again. That made him laugh.

“Yes, but you won’t. Because you--to be perfectly blunt--can’t,” Rumlow told her casually. He gestured to the men guarding the room. “You’d never make it out of here alive. So, why don’t we work together like adults?”

Darcy realized she didn’t have a choice. Not that she had much left to live for, anyway. But what if she could get to Erik? She’d been hanging her hopes on access to scientists, magic, Thor, to fix this thing, get Jane and her mom back. Her mother would tell her to stay alive and Jane would tell her that an infinite number of outcomes were possible.

“So?” Crossbones said, interrupting her thoughts.

“Fine,” Darcy told him.

“Good,” he said.

 

They moved her into a room in his compound. There were guards along the perimeter fence. It was in the desert, remote enough that she couldn’t see any other buildings or towns on the horizon. Crossbones gave her tasks and she considered failing at them, but decided that Mark or Jamie or one of the other guards would just be assigned to shoot her in the head and bury her out here. So, she did her work and kept her head down. They paired her with another hacker, a former IT guy named Tony, who was one of his long-term employees, apparently. “I used to work for a bank,” he told her. “He uses me to see who to rob next. But as long as you don’t try to draw attention to yourself, cooperate, he won’t actually hurt you.” Darcy had her doubts about that.

But she listened to everything Tony said. Everything. She picked up every hacking trick she didn’t yet know and every bit of information that she could. She learned from eavesdropping that they were in a remote corner of the Arizona desert, mostly known for its small population of Mormon fundamentalists in nearby Short Creek. It was true isolation. Darcy knew the possibility of rescue was slim out here, even before the Snap. She tried not to dwell on the fact that the government had left those fundamentalist guys alone for decades and they were sixty year olds marrying their twelve year old cousins.

The compound was wild and strange. She heard raucous parties sometimes and drunks shooting off guns; other nights were silent and empty. She found it impossible to sleep at any point, but eventually, the exhaustion wore her down. This was her new normal. But they let her have internet access.

One afternoon, he called her into the office. “You’ve been doing well,” he said.

“Thank you?” she said. Darcy mostly felt numb. It was difficult to know how to respond to verbal back and forth when you felt a kind of drained fatigue all the time.

“But you could have done the last one differently,” he said. She listened, confused, as he described a more efficient way of obtaining the information than the one she’d used.

“You know how to do that?” she said, then immediately regretted her words.

“Sure,” he said, in a surprisingly calm voice.

“What do you need me for?” she asked. It took her a second to realize that sound was him laughing quietly.

“I can’t be everywhere,” he said dryly. “I’m in a managerial role now. I’d still like to rob the banks myself sometimes. Miss that. Adrenaline is...problematic for me.” She stared at him for a second.

He stood up. “C’mon,” he said. She followed him out of the room, wondering if he was this amused because he was going to shoot her or something? Instead, he asked her to eat with him. Darcy tried to bat back his questions with care while she figured out what he really wanted. She was hesitating when he spoke again. “I’d like you on the team permanently,” he told her suddenly.

“Oh,” she said. When she met his battered eyes, the subtext became clearer. She nodded and returned to eating. He told her an anecdote about jumping out of a plane and fracturing several bones on the landing.

They repeated this routine for a few days. At the end of the week, she decided to go to bed with him. He hadn’t asked, but she wanted to get it over with. Wanted it to feel like a choice, even if it wasn’t. That gave her an illusion of control, a feeling of some agency. She didn’t know if it would buy her anything--more freedom, a greater possibility of getting out--but it seemed worth the risk. And she had nothing left to lose. She’d quietly used the internet access to email Erik. All her emails were returned as undeliverable. She couldn’t find his name on the lists of the missing, but that meant nothing. His son was on the list of those lost. Who would list Erik as missing too if his son was gone?

 

Rumlow was describing a problem to her the next night when she leaned over and pressed her mouth against the corner of his.

He stopped talking then. He wasn’t a terrible kisser.

 _And probably he’ll lose interest faster if he assumes I want him,_ she thought, as she followed him into a bedroom, their fingers intertwined. He took her clothes off slowly, eyes raking her body. She found his scars strangely fascinating, her attention on the criss-cross patterns of his arms, the scars that snaked down his neck. He looked at her, pupils wide. “Hey, you with me?” he said, touching her shoulders.

“Mmmm-hmm,” Darcy said.  He was warm and strong, she realized, as he pulled her into his lap.

“I want you,” he said, hands on her thighs. He kissed her slowly, sucking at her top lip. She might not feel much emotionally, but she was surprised to find herself responding to him physically. Darcy stabilized herself by curling her fingers around those shoulders. His muscles were firm under her touch. She ran her hands over his chest, feeling the way the scars changed the texture of his skin: _slick, not slick, slick._ “You scared of me?” he said quietly, eyes on her face. She shook her head.

“I want you to fuck me,” she told him, half-believing it herself. Darcy watched--half-present, half observing in what Jane would have called “a clinical fashion”--as he eased her on the bed and began kissing her again. His weight felt solid and real against her skin and that seemed to jostle a memory of what sex was like--had been like--from the recesses of her walled-off mind. When you were really excited and eager to be with someone, you got that butterflies feeling of physical nervousness blended with desire. This wasn’t that, not exactly. She wasn't nervous. But it wasn’t a bad feeling, she realized, wrapping her legs around his hips. “Don’t hold back,” she told him.

“I won’t,” he said. She muffled her moans by pressing her face against his scarred shoulder.

 

 

“What do you want?” he asked quietly in the morning.

“Hmmm?” Darcy said, opening her eyes. She had been resting. Not really sleeping, just letting herself not move.

“You slept with me without my asking, you must want something,” he said.

“I want my mom and Jane back,” she said, cheek against the scarred skin of his arm. He was silent. She knew he couldn’t give her that. No one could give her that. She’d said it because she wanted him to know she couldn’t be bought, not really. She was still as he stroked her hair, twirling a strand around his finger.

 

Rumlow gave her other things instead: clothes, a new room nearer his, money. Material things. He still saw other women, the women who frequented the occasional parties, most prettier and younger than her. A lot of them were actually cocktail waitresses from Vegas, gambling having survived the Snap. It didn’t bother Darcy to see them around, stumbling out of his room and to breakfast. She had hardly any feelings left at all. Jealousy wasn’t an emotion she could access anymore. Most of her emotions felt walled off. She’d been briefly curious about the parties, but discovered they had the manic, scary energy of the nineteen-twenties or of people who chased highs because they had nothing left, Darcy thought. She was too numb to even care about the people screaming and doing drugs all around her.

 

So, during her first party, she went back to her room.

 

But he cared. Bizarrely, he stomped up to find out who she was with after she left the scene downstairs. “Who the fuck--?” he began, opening her bedroom door. She looked up at him from where she was putting on her pajamas. He still had his hand on the door handle. “You’re alone,” he said.

“Yeah,” Darcy told him. It was true. She was very alone. He looked at her. There was a strange pause as she watched him process the gap between his projecting that she was fucking someone and the reality of her sitting there, with fuzzy socks in her lap because her feet still got cold, even with all that had happened. That bothered her most of all, sometimes. The fact that her feet were naggingly cold all the damn time. She had nobody and still needed socks to sleep.

 

He sat down next to her. “I know what this is like,” he said. “Being alone. Feeling alone.”

“I didn’t choose this,” she said. The _you did_ went unspoken.

“No,” he said. “I chose for you. You wanna go? I’ll let you go.”

“To where? To who?” Darcy said.

“Then fucking stay,” he said. “Be miserable with me.”


	12. favorite (cold feet part ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! I was going to post a fluffy, nice thing, but then everybody wanted a follow-up to our post-Snap chapter 11, so here we are. It's weird, IDK.  
> This is not a cute one, so trigger warnings for the Snap, angst, and people having slightly dubcon-ish sex to numb pain. In this AU, Crossbones never died, because he channeled his energies into a criminal empire, instead of revenge. But everything else is pretty canon-compliant.

Darcy stayed. They silently worked out an arrangement where they ate together every night and she slept in his bed a few nights a week. He fucked her, she thought, remembering a friend from college’s joke, “like a man who had a feeling once and didn’t like it much.” She thought it would fade, whatever it was.

 

To her surprise, he didn’t lose interest in screwing her or talking to her. But the first tipping point came when he brought back a model. Rumlow texted her, asking if she wanted to spend the night, and she found them in bed together. “This is Darcy,” he explained to the other woman. She was willowy and tanned in her lingerie. She nodded at him. He looked at Darcy.

“This is Gina,” he said. “Come to bed with us, sweetheart?” He patted the mattress on his other side.

“Nope, looks like you’ve got your hands full,” Darcy said dryly. She expected Gina to look upset, but the other woman smiled.

“I don’t mind,” she told Darcy, with a startling kind of acceptance.

“You should, you’re beautiful,” Darcy said honestly.

“Gina, give us a minute, go get a drink or something, please,” Rumlow said. Once Gina had put on a robe and shuffled off, he looked at Darcy. “I thought you’d like this? You told me you dated girls in college,” he said. She snorted.

“Not the way you’re imagining,” she said. They talked about all kinds of things at dinner and she’d mentioned a girlfriend in passing.

“Don’t be jealous,” he said.

“I’m not jealous, I just don’t like surprise threesomes,” Darcy said.

“So, I should what, contact your social secretary, make an appointment?” he asked, sighing.

“I’m going to bed, Brock,” she said. He wanted to her to call him by his actual name.

“You’re unhappy. You never laugh anymore,” he said as she turned.

“Anymore?” she said, puzzled. As far as she knew, her mood had been flat but even throughout her stay.

“You laughed a lot in Puente Antiguo,” he told her.

“Oh,” Darcy said.

“Also, you stole sugar packets from the diner,” he said.

“Why do you remember that?” she asked, turning back. He shrugged.

“Sometimes I remember the most fucked up things,” he said. “Come to bed, I’ll send Gina to another room.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, thinking about how Jane had always liked two Equals in her coffee, so Darcy had a habit of picking up a few packets wherever she went. Sometimes, her memories were pretty fucked up, too.

“I wouldn’t make you have sex with somebody,” he said. “I just thought you’d be into it.” She got in bed with him, but they didn’t have sex that night. In the morning, he announced they needed a change of scenery.

“Okay,” she said.

 

Parts of California were dangerous, but the wealthier areas had hired fill-in security services to make up for the police losses and lurching infrastructure. Darcy thought it was all slightly horrifying--the neighborhood was walled off now and served by generators to make up for the occasional power loss--but refrained from mentioning that to Brock, since she’d found out that he’d invested early in post-Snap security. Now half of his business was basically guarding and monitoring the properties of the paranoid and super wealthy and personal bodyguards for clients. The Snap had made him a more socially legitimate figure, ironically. What he’d gotten her to do in Arizona was a narrowing part of his empire. He was buying banks now, not robbing them. After the last election, he’d bribed--in his words, “given extensively to the reelection campaign”--of the current president, who’d given him a pardon. In all the chaos of the Snap, it had basically gone unnoticed.

 

They had long discussions about his goals. Mostly, he talked and she asked questions occasionally. She could go where she pleased with bodyguards, but he seemed to like having her around as a feedback machine. They were together all the time, sharing a bedroom now, and he wanted her to sit in on his meetings, be present during his day. He took her to restaurants a lot, too, since it was warm and pleasant at night in southern California. They were sitting on a restaurant patio when he asked her a question. “You need anything while we’re here?”

“No,” she said, shrugging.

“Nothing? Something nice? Clothes? Jewelry?” he offered. Then he shook his head at her lack of interest. “What did you think of Gregson?” They’d met with a potential client earlier in the day, a tech billionaire who wanted protection.

“A weasel,” Darcy said. “Possibly robot weasel,” she added. “He didn’t blink like a real human.” He laughed.

“Can’t believe he’s a goddamn billionaire and he was wearing sweatpants,” Brock said.

“Don’t knock comfortable pants,” she said lightly.

“You can’t stash a gun in ‘em, baby,” he told her, pointing with his fork. “You want more wine? I can tell you’re in a good mood, you made a joke.”  

“Reasonably good mood,” Darcy said.

“You really don’t want anything?” he asked. Darcy scrutinized his expression across the table. She thought about the absence of other women in California. It had begun to dawn on her that she was actually his current favorite of the transitory women in his life. He had a favorite everything: guns (a customized Sig Sauer P226 handgun), cars (a Ferrari F8 Tributo, shipped from Europe), food (grass-fed beef), even sunglasses (Ray-Ban aviators) and boxing gloves. All his favorite things went with him. He got out-of-sorts if they weren’t around, even if he barely drove the Ferrari and she’d yet to see him shoot anyone. It reminded her of something she’d learned with Jane in Europe, when they’d been briefly in France and done a chateau tour. The pamphlets had explained that the furniture was literally called “moveables” in French because the kings had gone from chateau to chateau carrying their things, their mistresses of the moment, and their courtiers with them. Brock was like that, in an odd way.

“Why am I here?” she asked. He looked at her from across the table.

“What, you want me to tell you I’m in love with you or something?” he asked. “That what you want?”  He smirked around a mouthful of steak and raised a scarred eyebrow.

“No,” she said. “I’m just not sure what it is I do for you that any of these women couldn’t do equally well.” The restaurant was full of expensively-turned out blondes in casual dresses that were probably a thousand dollars a piece. It seemed surreal to Darcy that there was still a market for leggy, California beauty, post-Snap, but there was. Things were beginning to slowly stabilize at the current equilibrium. “Maybe even better than I do,” she added, looking around with a flicker of curiosity. She spent most of her days people-watching for him now. Vetting clients by feeling and observation.

“Don’t talk yourself out of a job, I like the work you do just fine,” he said, grinning. They ate quietly for a minute. She listened to the sound of clinking silverware and other people talking. He gestured to the waiter and got her more wine. “You should adjust to this,” he said suddenly.

“What?” Darcy said.

“Everything’s going to stay like this. There’s no magic cure, Darcy. They aren’t coming back--not your mother and Jane, not mine,” he said. “So, we’ve just got to fucking move on, keep going forward. You think Jane goddamn Foster would want you to sit around staring at the walls?” he asked. His voice was blunt.

“Probably not, but she certainly wouldn’t approve of you,” Darcy said. She said it with some of her old sarcasm and his frown turned into a sly grin.

“No,” he said. “Move your chair closer to mine.” He had her sit so he could touch her knee as they ate. “You could enjoy your life with me,” he said.

“But if I start asking you for things, how will you know that I’m indifferent your gangster money?” she said dryly. She thought that was a large part of her appeal to him, anyway. He laughed, but then his expression grew serious.

“I know who you are,” he said, tension evident in his jaw. He inhaled a little roughly.

  


They had sex that night. He was gripping her hips and pounding into her when she felt overwhelmed by a wave of emotion. She’d been enjoying herself as much as she could, physically, then suddenly she started to cry. It was lucky he couldn’t see her face. She wiped her tears with the back of her hand, hoping her hair acted as a curtain. When he came, he slumped against her, kissing the back of her neck. She could feel the shaking of his muscles against hers. “Oh, baby,” he murmured, “that was so good. You feel good?”

“Yeah,” she said, hoping he mistook the quiver in her voice for passion instead of whatever this weird weepy feeling was. She hadn’t cried in months. She thought she’d lost the ability to cry. He shifted them both over onto their sides, sliding out of her. Darcy felt his mouth, dotting kisses across her shoulders and back, warm and soft.

“I want you to feel good,” he said. His arm was heavy across her body.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. She did feel oddly better after she cried.


	13. security system (cold feet part iii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Same 'verse as chapters 11 & 12, but Brock's POV.  
> This is not a cute one, so trigger warnings for the Snap, angst, and people having slightly dubcon-ish sex to numb pain. In this AU, Crossbones never died, because he channeled his energies into a criminal empire, instead of revenge. But everything else is pretty canon-compliant.

“You need to see somebody,” Brock  said to her one morning as she did her makeup. He could tell Darcy was on autopilot, lining her lower lashes with pencil. What he’d said didn’t seem to register at first.

“What?” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. Brock was getting dressed.

“You need to see a doctor. I’ve made you an appointment for this afternoon and you’re going,” he said in a blunt tone. He didn’t normally use that voice with her, but he thought this might call for bluntness. He’d tried to engage her every way he knew: gifts, sex, entertainment. It had been several months and she was still listless. And he was concerned about her safety. At first, he’d wanted her around him purely for his own purposes, but now he’d started to worry that something would happen to her if he let her out of his sight. He’d caught her dozing in the bathtub once and had more security cameras installed all over the house. He had low-grade anxiety whenever she wanted to go somewhere without him, like a hum in his ears.  

“All right,” she said. He came up behind her and started rubbing her shoulders.

“You’re too sad,” he said. “I can’t let you go on like this--”

“Or?” Darcy said.

“You think I don’t see it when you cry? You cry during sex sometimes, baby,” he said, fingers kneading circles in her shoulder blades. She wouldn’t meet his eyes in the mirror of her vanity. Was that a tremble in her hands?

“I just--that’s when I-I feel things,” she said, stammering.

“You feel things?” he said, confused.

“Most of the time, I don’t--my feelings are all blocked,” she said. “Like, behind a paywall? I know they’re there, I can see them, I just can’t get to them, but sometimes, during sex I just get emotional. I don’t understand it, I don’t know why.” He saw she was tearing up, so he patted her hair.

“I’m going to a meeting, but I want you to rest before your appointment at three,” he said, voice firm. “You understand? I’ll be back to pick you up, but I think you should stay in bed.” He kissed her cheek gently. “Don’t cry, okay?” he asked.

“Okay,” she said.

 

He turned the security app on when he left the house. “Shit,” he said, when the feed cut on and he could see her crying despondently. “Fuck.” He called and she answered.

“Hello?” she said, sniffling.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” he said.

“Are--are you leaving me?” she said quietly.

“No, honey,” he said. “I’ll be back at two, okay? I’m not going anywhere.”

  


The therapist was visibly frightened of him. It wasn’t the burns, Brock knew, because of the way  the man said his name with such careful respect. He obviously googled his clients. “Mr. Rumlow, what would you like me to do? A sedative?” he asked, after Darcy had stammered out a few sentences about Jane and her mother and the fog that had settled on her after the Snap.

“Excuse me?” Brock said.

“Would you like me to prescribe her a sedative?” he repeated.

“For fuck’s sake, I don’t want you to tranquilize my girlfriend like we live in Stepford,” Brock said to him. The therapist flinched.

“You think I’m your girlfriend?” Darcy said, wide-eyed and staring. He didn’t understand why she was looking at him like that.

“We live together,” Brock said to her, squeezing her hand. They might as well be married, he thought. He turned on the therapist. “Look, she doesn’t need to be more numb, okay? I’m already worried she’ll drown in the goddamn bathtub. She’s got PTSD from the Snap. I’ve seen this in the field, she needs someone she can talk to about her feelings and reasonable antidepressants.”

“Yes,” the therapist said nervously. “I think I understand.”

“Do you want to talk to him?” Brock asked her bluntly. “Or has he just destroyed his fucking credibility here?”

“No, no, I’ll talk to him,” Darcy said. He rubbed her back as she talked about being there during the Snap and how mad she was with herself that she’d missed a call from her mother the day before. “I--I thought I’d always be able to call her back, you know?” Darcy said, voice quaking.

 

When they were finished with the session, he helped her out. “We can find somebody else if you don’t like that guy,” he said, tucking her under his arm. “Maybe a woman would be nicer, huh? I think you need food.” She’d sobbed for the last ten minutes or so. Darcy nodded, expression blank. They went to lunch.

 

“Why are you doing this?” she asked him suddenly, after they’d ordered. He’d been watching her as her red, glassy eyes trailed around the restaurant.

“You don’t have to keep struggling like this, they’ve got medication now, cognitive therapy,” he said, trying to connect with her. “You think I didn’t go see somebody when I woke up like this?” he said, gesturing to his face.

“I thought you went on a crime spree,” she said with a little of her old personality. He grinned, scars twisting.

“I couldn’t do that forever,” he said. “There’s only so many banks. Everybody’s a conglomerate. Eventually, I had to talk to somebody.” She gave him a brief smile.

“You don’t see anybody now?” she said.

“No,” he said, “I’ve accepted that this is my face. Most of the time.” He reached across and pushed a strand of her hair off her face. Brock didn’t tell her that she was the person he confided in now. “You wanna go for a drive soon? They’ve reopened this part of the Pacific Coast Highway, it’s supposed to be nice. We can take my car.”

“Sure,” Darcy said.

 

He made her drive the Ferrari, even though she balked. “This is your car!” Darcy said, looking between him and the car.

“So?” he said, handing her the fob.

“What if I scratch it?” she said.

“You can handle it,” he said. “Let’s go.” On the highway, they get a view of the ocean on one side. Darcy seemed nervous at first, but relaxed as they breathed more of the sea air. “You can go faster,” he told her. She pressed the accelerator.

“Oh my God!” she said as the car sped up, “this is kinda fun.”

“You’re a natural,” he told her.

“I’m not going to tell you how many car accidents I’ve had over the years,” she said. He sat up a fraction, hearing the change in her voice, the shift into a more interested tone.

“Just don’t plunge us into the ocean,” he said. “I can buy another Ferrari.”

“They really don’t put enough cup holders in this, though,” Darcy said. “That seems like a flaw.”

“You’re a philistine,” he told her, secretly amused. He hadn’t heard her venture an opinion without prompting before. He let her drive around for another twenty minutes, then told her to turn around. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, frowning, as they got off the highway and stopped at a stoplight.

“No,” he said, smirking. “I just want to go home and fuck you. That okay?”

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah.”

 

Over the next few weeks, they tried new meds, more appointments. More than once, he caught her walking through a CBT technique, talking to herself. One night, he came home late unexpectedly and found her in the kitchen. “Where have you been?” she said sharply. This was a voice he’d never heard before.

“Meeting,” he said, looking at her with his head tilted. “Ran long.” She crossed her arms and looked at him.

“You could have called me,” she said.

“My mistake,” he told her, grinning. She was cooking. That was new, too. She turned back to the cutting board, chopping angrily. He leaned against the counter, watching her.

“Were you with someone else?” she said, looking at him fleetingly. Brock straightened up. He moved so he was standing behind her.

“You worried about me running around on you now?” he said, whispering in her ear. He put his arms around her waist.

“No,” she said stubbornly. “Fuck you, you’re an asshole.”

“I am?” he said, failing to hide his amusement.

“You kidnapped me, you know that?” she said. “Somebody put a hood over my head, like, five months ago, and now we’re like this weird fucking couple and it is _not normal.”_

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m happy, though. You happy?”

“I’m pissed at you right now,” she said.

“Wonderful,” he said, pushing her hair aside to kiss her neck. He heard her chopping slow down and grinned.


	14. without you (cold feet part iv)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!  
> Same 'verse as chapters 11, 12, & 13\. This is not a cute one, so trigger warnings for the Snap, angst, and people having slightly dubcon-ish sex to numb pain. In this Endgame AU, Crossbones never died, because he channeled his energies into a criminal empire, instead of revenge. But everything else is pretty canon-compliant. Minor spoilers in this chapter for what Thor is presumably up to between 2019 and the later events of Endgame.

Seven months into their relationship and several months into her therapy, Darcy left him. She ditched her security team at a mall, bought a burner phone, called an Uber, and checked into a cheap hotel. She’d lined the bottom of her purse with cash; he was always very generous with her allowance. “You can do this, you can do this,” she repeated to herself, trying not to panic. She and her therapist had practiced not panicking over other stressors as her emotions returned, why should this be any different? She stared at the painting of fruit on the hotel wall, did her breathing exercises. Ran through all the reasons she shouldn’t want to go home, shouldn’t want to see him, touch him. She owed it to herself to try to live normally now that she had escaped the emotional numbing of the Snap. She had no idea how Brock would respond, but she had to try. Jane would tell her that, she thought. She wished she could talk to Jane or her mom so much. She missed her mom’s laughing over the funny postcards she used to send or the weird knick-knacks when they were in Europe: a roll of purple toilet paper from France, little plastic hopping penises, tiny replicas of landmarks that most Americans didn’t know. Now that she was having real feelings, she thought about them constantly. Then she got mad at the universe.

  
Fifteen minutes later, someone knocked. Darcy jumped. With shaking hands, she checked the peephole. “Fuck,” Darcy said out loud. It was one of the guys from the B-security team, a guy named Jamie. She had forgotten that Brock sometimes sent a second guard as a backup, because he was paranoid about mass shootings and her first set of guards not being enough to evacuate her. He could dream up an alarming variety of disaster scenarios. She opened the door and the man handed her a phone. “Boss wants to talk to you,” he said. Darcy nodded, took the phone, and shut the door.

“I shouldn’t—I mean I don’t want to be with you anymore,” she told him.

“Sure,” Brock said calmly, “but that’s no fucking reason to stay somewhere that probably has bedbugs. Get Jamie to take you to the LA condo.”

“The LA condo?” Darcy said.

“Did you think I didn’t anticipate this?” he told her in a wry voice. “Bought it when you started acting like yourself. Sale closed two days ago.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. They’d been arguing lately. Or she’d been arguing. Not that he seemed bothered by it, Darcy thought. She was the one who felt raw, shaking, screaming rage constantly. He seemed to enjoy watching her smash things: plates, wine bottles, cell phones. She’d asked her therapist if there were some people who considered being around a screaming woman a form of foreplay and her therapist had looked astounded.  “What do you mean?” she’d asked during their last session.

“I mean, I scream and yell about how unfair everything is. I threw a plate into the sink the other day, it broke into three pieces, and he just _looked_ at me. Then later he wanted to have sex,” she’d explained.

“That’s an unusual reaction,” the therapist had said. “Does he engage in arguments with you?”

“No,” Darcy had told her. “He just fucking smiles at me and tells me I’m pretty and asks if I want to go to dinner.”  She refrained from getting into too much graphic detail about how she seemed to veer between being irrationally, wildly angry at everything and the need to curl up in his arms and either have sex or cry. Sometimes, she did all three in an evening.

 

Jamie took her to the condo. There was also a car and a bank account in her name.

 

Darcy attempted to live a normal life, aware that he was likely monitoring her movements, at least a little. She found a job in a company run by a legitimate client of his, because that seemed easier than cloak-and-dagger job hunting. Ironically, it was in PR. She wrote company press releases and tried to spend as little money as possible. Which was easy, because he covered the condo, the car, and the assorted house bills--lights, car insurance, her internet access. Brock even threw in a few streaming services. But that was fine because she didn’t intend to stay in limbo forever. She would leave him and disappear for real, as soon as she got on her feet and felt stable enough, she thought sometimes. She _ought_ to want to leave him more than she did, not to run back to him whenever she had a bad workday, felt lonely, or just wanted to talk about something from the past. She ought to want a whole different life, she thought, not some weird comfort in the fact that he was the person who could remember who she really was, who she had been, before the Snap.

 

She was used to being with him all the time, too. It was difficult being alone again. Sleeping alone. Not having sex. Not having anyone to send funny memes to or to tell stories to over dinner. No one to hold her hand or rub her shoulders. But she tried socializing at work. It went okay, but Darcy longed for the closeness she’d had with Jane. Making friends as an adult was harder than she realized. Especially when people talked about boring things like gardening or asked about Brock. Whenever she talked about him, she missed him more. A casual question could send her cycling into a days-long funk that blended yearning to talk to him, horniness, and a sense of recrimination about the intensity of her own feelings. _A normal person just doesn’t go around catching feelings for Brock Rumlow,_ she scolded herself.

 

One night, she was at a birthday dinner for one of her coworkers and spotted a couple having a romantic meal. The woman, facing her, laughed at something the man said. She recognized the set of his shoulders, his hair. It was Brock, she realized. “Excuse me,” Darcy said to her table. “I think I see someone I know.” Livid, she marched over, intending to make a scene. How dare he bring a fucking date here, just to bait her. Obviously, he’d done it on purpose. “I cannot believe your shit--” Darcy began, wheeling on him furiously.

“Do we, uh, know each other?” the stranger looking at her asked, eyebrows raised.

 

It was just a guy who looked like Brock from behind.

 

Darcy went into the ladies room and cried. She called him from inside a stall. He answered on the second ring. “Hey, sweetheart, something wrong with the condo?” he asked.

“I just almost screamed at somebody I thought was you on a date,” she told him in a shaking voice.

“Yeah?” he said. There was a pause. “I’ll bet he still looked less terrified than the woman I thought was you at a coffee shop the other day,” he said quietly. “Did he run? She practically ran.”

“No, but he did look nervous,” Darcy said. One of the more unusual aspects of coming out of her fog was realizing how new people responded to Brock sometimes. Usually, they’d cringe or seem awkward, but occasionally, there was real, visible repulsion. She was so acclimated to his scars that she hardly noticed them, but other people did.

“Were you going to throw something at him?” he teased, as she breathed quietly.

“Shut up, I’ve never thrown anything at you. Not directly,” she said. He chuckled.

“My sink is lonely,” he said. “It’s too quiet here.”

“I thought you’d be busier than me. Maybe catch up with Gina,” she said.

“Who?” he said.

“You cannot tell me you don’t actually remember the woman you wanted me to have a threesome with, you walking cliché of a male person,” she said.

“Oh, yeah, well, I remember her now that you say that,” he said.

“Typical,” she said.

“I was mostly focused on you at the time,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said.

“I was,” he insisted. “I thought you might secretly want to be with someone like that instead of me.”

“Really?” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” Brock said. “I did.”

“No,” Darcy whispered into the phone. There was a long pause.

“You okay to drive home or should I send somebody to pick you up? Where are you?” he asked, before she hung up.

“I think I’m okay,” Darcy said. “I’ve got to go back to Sheila’s birthday party. I'm at Mozza on Highland,” she explained, surprised he didn't know.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said. "Have some of those polenta fritti you like for me."

“Brock?” she said.

“Yeah?” he said.

“Can I come see you tonight? Just to talk?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’d like that.”

 

He was waiting at the front door when she pulled into the driveway. “Hi,” Darcy said. 

“Hey,” he said, kissing her on the cheek. There was a moment of tension as his eyes lingered on her face. “You look beautiful,” he said.

“Thanks,” Darcy said, feeling her heart race oddly.

“You, uh, want some wine? I’ve got a case of riesling I ordered a while ago,” he told her. She knew he meant before she’d moved out. He mostly drank red wine. It was her favorite.

“I’d love some, but I probably shouldn’t, since I’ve got to drive home,” she said.

“You can stay here,” he said carefully. “If you want to drink?”

“You don’t mind if I crash here?” Darcy said. He shook his head.

“You’re not interrupting anything,” he said. She followed him into the kitchen. The house was mostly dark. She saw the light was on in his home office. He’d been working on a Saturday night. Paperwork from the looks of it. She watched as he opened the bottle from the wine fridge, poured her a glass. She took it.

“It’s very good,” she told him. He nodded.

“So,” he said. “Everything going okay other than guys who look like me in restaurants?”

“More or less,” Darcy said carefully. She shrugged.

“Anything I can do?” He asked. Darcy put down her wine glass.

“You could have sex with me,” she said.

 

She was on top of him, trailing kisses across his body, when his calm demeanor broke. “Fuck,” he muttered. “I miss you so goddamn much. I’ve been trying to give you space, but I miss you,” he repeated. “I’ve been having anxiety attacks, worried something could happen to you and I wouldn’t even fucking know, much less be able to do anything to stop it.” She looked at him.

“I miss you, too,” she whispered. “I can stop wanting to call you or text you or show up here.”

“Well, fucking come back to me,” he said. “I love you.”

“I thought you didn’t?” she said archly, remembering their conversation in that restaurant months ago, when he’d asked if that was what she wanted. He groaned.

“I’ve been a little bit in love with you since the first time we slept together,” he said.

“Hmm,” Darcy said. “I’m that good at sex?”

“I’m trying to have a real moment here,” he complained. “But yes, you are.” His fingers ran over her body gently. He looked oddly mesmerized, she thought.

“The pussy is that good?” she teased.

“Wiseass, that is not the correct response to _I love you,”_ he said.

“Please fuck me into the—okay, okay, I love you, too,” Darcy said, when he he rolled his eyes at her. “I love you,” she repeated, kissing his scars. She felt him relax as she pressed her mouth into the battered skin around his eyes.

"It's good to have you back," he said.

Darcy spent the night, but didn’t move back in with him immediately. Instead, they dated for a while. She kept her PR job and the condo, and went back and forth between houses. Sometimes, he spent the night with her, sometimes she spent the night with him. They were at her place when one of the networks aired a special about notable people lost in the Snap and mentioned Jane. “People don’t even know,” Darcy said. “She was working on five different theorems, you know? She wasn’t just Thor’s smart girlfriend. Sometimes, I wish--” she said, then sighed.

“Wish what, baby?” Brock said, rubbing her shoulder.

“That people wouldn’t forget her,” Darcy said, thinking about Jane’s determination, the way she was a blend of complicated traits: an intelligent, sometimes abrasive, but deeply loyal person. A slob who would walk right into traffic because she was keen on an idea that only five people in the world understood. A PhD who couldn’t figure out how Darcy changed her ringtone as a prank. Darcy had known she loved her mother, but it was only when Jane was gone that she realized they’d become as close as sisters.

“You should do an interview,” Brock told her.

“What?” Darcy said.

“Do an interview, talk about her,” he said. “You were the person closest to her.”

 

She used her PR contacts and did a sit down interview with a journalist whose work Jane always liked. It was difficult. They had to stop several times for her to stop crying and she was sure that the makeup person wasn’t a fan, but in the end, she thought she’d done something for Jane. The night that the interview was going to air, she and Brock went to dinner. “I have some, uh, news I think you’ll like,” he said. “Or, I hope so.”

“What news?” she said.

“It’s mostly selfish,” he admitted. “But I need to do some things for tax deduction this year and I thought that could be your project?”

“My project?” Darcy said.

“You could give to an organization you like, maybe even start something in Jane’s name?” he said.

“Oh,” Darcy said.

“Like I said, my tax guy says it would be advantageous to me to up my donations, but I don’t see why you shouldn’t do some actual good with it,” he said.

“I think I’d like that,” she told him. They went back to her place to watch the interview. Darcy was sitting next to him on the couch when the report aired a segment that she hadn’t known about: they’d tracked Thor down in New Asgard. Only, it wasn’t the interview she expected, a polished sit-down like hers, but unflattering footage of him running errands in ratty clothes and dodging the cameras. At one point, he covered the cameraman’s lens and swore vividly when they asked about Jane. They bleeped him out. Darcy hadn’t seen him in several years, so it was shocking to see him treated in such a brutal way. The media had always fawned over Thor and tended to critique Jane in subtly mean ways about how she dressed or behaved.  “Holy shit,” she said out loud, still processing it, as they went to her interview. The segment opened with footage of her and Jane at an awards ceremony in 2013. “What the hell was that?” Darcy repeated, stunned. Brock looked puzzled.

“Is that why he’s never called you or anything?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Darcy said. She hadn’t thought much about Thor’s absence from her life. A part of her had assumed he was off rescuing more important people or something? Darcy sat, thinking. Had he really been in hiding, like they said? This whole time? She’d never been able to get in touch with him. She was still thinking when Brock spoke.

“I think you did really good, sweetheart,” Brock told her, after it was all over. “You told interesting stories, they showed good clips of Jane.” They’d closed the special with footage of Jane answering a question about how she wanted to change the world.

“No one will pay attention to me, not when they can talk about Thor cussing on camera and having a scruffy ZZ Top beard now,” she said, sighing. “My interview was totally fucked by their desire for a salacious story. This is exactly the kind of shit that would’ve really sent Jane off on a rant. Damn it.”

“Yeah?” Brock said encouragingly.

“Well, I mean, it’s fucking bullshit to ambush him, obviously. He’s suffering. But what’s worse for Jane’s legacy is that--no matter what else is in the special--that’s going to be the story tomorrow. It won’t be about Jane at all. It’ll be about him. He’s overshadowed her life _again._ Not even him, it’ll be those goddamn sweatpants, all stained with Mountain Dew or whatever,” she grumbled.

“All the more reason for you to donate some money in her name. Re-center the narrative,” Brock said.

 

They did that, with some success. Then Brock asked if she’d go on a trip with him. She said yes. They went on vacation in Mexico. He asked if she’d move back in on the trip. She said yes then, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of my Jane chapter, so here's our in-universe Jane interview gif that gives Darcy the feels:
> 
>  


	15. calculated risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Winchesterxgirl
> 
> Random Person 1: Don’t tell me it was a calculated risk!
> 
> Random Person 2: Don’t worry, I won’t tell you, besides, I don’t even know how to count.
> 
> https://shadowlostinacrowdofpeople.tumblr.com/post/184850910956/crazy-conversations-14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! A fluffy one-shot while I work on the end of the Post-Snap AU in Chs. 11-14.

Darcy was on an errand for Jane. Well, errand might be too intellectual a term: she was on a snack run. She and Jane were both tired of SHIELD cafeteria food. Food might be too intellectual a term, too: the new, post-HYDRA Uprising complex didn’t have a fully-functioning cafeteria yet. It was all saran-wrapped sandwiches and Snapple that the admins had trucked in from somewhere. So, Darcy had snuck off to the nearest convenience store for bags of potato chips, just for variety. She parked the car and walked in. “Hi,” she said brightly, when an indifferent clerk nodded at her. “Ah ha!” she said, getting a bag of sour cream and onion for herself and regular for Jane. Brock would probably complain about her onion breath, but whatevs. “He’ll deal,” she said to herself.

 

Maybe, she thought, she should find the nearest grocery store and get bread, peanut butter, and jelly? She was contemplating the logistics of making her own sandwiches without getting grape jelly on anything Jane would consider precious when there was a noise at the front of the store. Darcy’s head jerked up when she heard a voice demanding money. A guy with a bandana over his face was robbing the clerk and waving a small gun around. She was witnessing a robbery. Darcy ducked down and breathed for a second. Then she took the taser out of her purse.

 

She’d crept down a row in a half-crouch to get closer to the robber. She could aim the taser at his back and then duck behind a row of beef jerky, she thought. He was totally focused on the clerk. It would probably work. Maybe. She stood up behind him, leaned over the jerky, and pressed the button on her taser. The clerk was wide-eyed. “Duck!” Darcy yelled at him as the prongs connected. The clerk ducked and the robber jolted, but mercifully, the gun didn’t go off. A second later, the robber was on the floor and Darcy had grabbed the gun. 

“I’m calling 911!” the clerk said.

“Do you have duct tape?” Darcy said. That was good for binding people; Darcy had learned that when their SHIELD security guy in Norway had been a HYDRA mole remnant. They’d taped him to a rolling office chair. 

  
  


She was being interviewed by the local cops when Brock appeared in the door of the convenience store. “What,” he said slowly, “did you do?”

“Sir--” the cop began, before Brock flashed his SHIELD badge. “Oh,” he said. “You’re a federal agent?”

“And my boyfriend,” Darcy told the officer. “I didn’t do anything, he was robbing the place!” Darcy said, pointing to the robber. The cops were leading him to a squad car.

“She saved us. He was waving that gun around,” the clerk said seriously, nodding. 

“He did yell a lot when they took off the duct tape,” Darcy said.

“Pulls off your arm hair,” the cop said.

“Yeah,” the clerk said.

“Darcy,” Brock said. “Did you interrupt an armed robbery? Unarmed?”

“I had my taser--” she said.

“And he had a gun?” Brock repeated in that same voice. Darcy knew that voice. It was the same voice he used when he found out about her cholesterol. And her student debt. It was deceptively calm, that voice.

“Just a tiny one,” she said. “I took a risk, sure, but it didn’t even go off---”

“Don’t tell me it was a calculated risk,” Brock said, still radiating that  _ Dad bailing you out of jail  _ energy. Darcy felt vaguely guilty, like she’d cheated on a test or TP’d a house. But she’d saved the clerk! And probably the store owner’s insurance rates! That had to count for something, right? She smiled brightly at Brock.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell you, besides, I don’t even know how to count,” she said. The cop snorted. Brock sighed heavily. The clerk looked at both of them.

“I’m not charging you for the potato chips, ma’am,” he said.

 

“Are you really mad?” she asked him, when the cop said they could go. They’d walked out to her car. His work SUV was parked askew next to hers. He’d hurried here, she realized. 

“No,” he said quietly. 

“You seem mad,” she said.

“I’m not mad,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” she said, putting the bag of free chips in her backseat. She was surprised when she felt his hand on her elbow, turning her around. “What? See, you are mad,” she began, but stopped when he cupped her face.

“You little idiot,” he said. “Not a fucking day goes by when I’m not worried about your crazy behavior, you know that? Is Jane gonna portal you to elf land accidentally? Are you going to trip over one of your scarves and fall down a flight of stairs?”

“It’s Svartalfheim and I tripped over a scarf  _ one time, _ not everybody is as well-coordinated as you--” she said, before he interrupted.

“Now I gotta add interrupting robberies to the things that keep me up at night?” he said.

“Hey--” she said.

“I worry because I’m crazy about you,” he said. He brushed a curl off her cheek. “I’ve never felt this way about anybody before.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Sorry.” He started to laugh, then pulled her in close.

“It’s the best feeling about 95% of the time. Just stick to making me worry about whatever you’re gonna make me wear for Halloween,” he said. 

“Okay,” she said, refraining from pointing out that Halloween was months and months away. He still thought they’d be together? She was delighted. She nuzzled him, grinning. “I haven’t even decided that yet,” she whispered in his ear.

“No togas,” he said grumpily.

“But you have such pretty legs and nobody at work but me gets to see ‘em,” she said. “I’m just trying to add more joy to the world.” He laughed openly then.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s get you back to your well-guarded workplace with your almost-murder chips,” he said, letting her go to open her car door. She was smiling when she got behind the wheel.

 

Darcy rolled down her car window. “Brock?” she said.

“Yeah?” He’d turned back.

“I thought I only kept you up at night in a good way?” she said, leaning out and grinning. He laughed again.

“You’re gonna pay for that tonight, you know that, right?” he said.

“Am I in trouble?” she teased.


	16. surprise party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For winchesterxgirl 
> 
> Writing Prompt 288
> 
> “Come! Join the party!”  
> “..I don’t think I want to.”
> 
> link: https://p-r-o-m-p-t-s.tumblr.com/post/184856754101/writing-prompt-288

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

Brock was unlocking the door to the apartment when he heard the noise. A scraping sound, thumps, and the sound of Darcy yelling. “Come back! Dammit!” he heard her say. “Wait! I didn’t mean to use that voice! Come back, please, sweetie!” He opened the door and looked down. A very floppy-eared, very wet dog looked up at him. A beagle. The dog was covered in suds. The dog tilted his head at Brock. Darcy came into the living room, almost sliding on some of the damp spots. “Hi,” she said, “you’re back early!”

“Yeah,” he said.

“I’m giving Max a bath,” she said. “He sort of escaped. From the tub.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said.

“It’s a bath party,” she added in an unnaturally bright tone. “I’m trying to use a positive voice, so he’s not scared. Jennifer says he’s sensitive to his emotional climate. You can help if you want? Come!” she said. “Join the party!” Darcy said. Brock wasn’t sure if she was using the positive voice on him or Max.

“I don’t think I want to,” Brock told her, before he grinned.

“Okay,” Darcy said, seizing Max’s collar.

“Darcy?” he asked, as she tried to move the dog back down the hallway.

“Yeah?” she said.

“Who owns Max and why is he in our apartment?” he said.

“Well, I kinda volunteered to foster him while the rescue finds him a new home, Jennifer called me and she _begged,_ Brock. I couldn’t say no to this face. I mean look at him!” Darcy said.

“Uh-huh,” Brock said. A wet and sudsy Max looked between them. He did have a cute face, Brock thought. Large brown eyes and a soft expression. “How much does he weigh?” he asked.

“I’m not sure exactly, but he’s definitely supposed to be under thirty pounds, he just needs to lose some weight, I promise,” Darcy said. His apartment had a pet size limit. “Come on, Max! Let’s have our bath now!” she said brightly. As she towed him back down the hallway, Max gave Brock a mournful look. Darcy was chatting at him about how nice it would be when he was clean and smelled all pretty. He heard her wrestle the dog back into the tub.

 

Brock realized he had a dog now. “Does he do anything?” he called to Darcy.

“What?” she said.

“The one at work finds bombs,” he said, walking down the hallway and coming to stand in the doorway of the bathroom. Max wagged his tail.

“He found the chicken breast packaging in the trash today,” Darcy said. “Awwww, he likes you!”

“So, he can find chicken?” Brock said.

“Also, he ate my potato chips off the table when I went to the door,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, then he started to laugh.

“What?” Darcy said.

“Only you could have a search and rescue dog for snacks,” Brock told her teasingly. He knelt to help her give the dog a bath.

“Shut up,” she said. There were suds on her nose. He leaned over and kissed her. “I missed you,” she said.

“I always miss you,” Brock told her.

 

They were kissing when Max fled the tub again. “He’s not a dumb dog,” Brock said, watching his tail disappear down the hallway.

“No,” Darcy said, sounding offended. “Of course he’s smart. Why would you think he wasn’t?”

 


	17. heroism involves kindness, dips$!t

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for winchesterxgirl:
> 
> “Jesus christ eat the goddamn mac and cheese,” scowls the hero “I can hear your stomach growling through your armor, you know.”  
> The villain blinks “You-”  
> “Are feeding you, yes. If all I wanted to do was punch people and throw criminals in jail, I would’ve become a vigilante. Heroism involves kindness, dipshit.”
> 
> https://stars---thunderbird.tumblr.com/post/184941060347/shitpostsampler-dignitywhatdignity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

He had been given wrong information about Foster’s lab, Rumlow realized, as he came to and shook his head. Foster wasn’t on vacation at all. His vision swam, then resolved into the face of Foster’s assistant, looking at him quizzically. She’d duct-taped him to a chair. “How’d that happen?” she asked. “The taser didn’t do anything, but you went down like a Jenga game when I just pushed you,” she said. He’d been trying to yank the taser out of her hands, so she’d stop trying to zap him.

“Uhhhh,” Rumlow groaned. “I’ve got cracked ribs. I can’t feel ‘em too well, but I’ve started having psychosomatic pain responses, since Triskelion. Can’t feel pain, my body compensates in other ways,” he explained.  

“Cracked ribs, huh?” she said. “So, you actually did faint like a nineteenth-century heroine on me?” she asked.

“Three of ‘em, yeah,” he said.

“Also, probably a concussion,” she said, tilting her head. “You connected with a lab table on the way down.”

“Shit,” he said. “You and Foster weren’t supposed to be here on a Saturday. This was supposed to be a no-injury, simple, solo break-in, Lewis. Take Foster’s newest creation, sell it to a slimy billionaire with a space boner.”

“Sure, Brock,” she said, “Only I _am_ here. Jane’s gone, but I’m working to catch up on some things.” 

“You remember my name?” he said. They’d met in New Mexico. And again in London with those elves.

“Yup,” she said brightly. “It’s actually stupider than Crossbones, that’s what makes it so memorable.”

“I won’t tell Ma you said that,” he said, tentatively shifting. Sudden movements could make him pass out again.

“I’ve called Fury, someone will be coming to get you soon, we can have all that checked out medically,” she said. She stood up and peered at the back of his head, then winced. “You have an abrasion and a lump,” she told him. “I’ll get ice.” She went over to the mini-fridge, bent, searched around, then swore. “No ice,” she said. “Only ice cream. Damn.”

“I’m sure I won’t die,” he said wryly. He was fairly difficult to kill, after all.

“Are you checking out my ass?” she said, looking over her shoulder at him.

“I couldn’t possibly tell you, I’m concussed,” he said. It was a very pretty ass, he thought. She was juicy like a peach. Could he actually taste…canned peaches? He shook his head again, briefly wondering if this was some strange new psychosomatic symptom, tasting whatever he was thinking of, before everything went black again.

 

When he woke up the second time, she was doing something to the top of his head. “Hold still, I’m duct-taping a Coke can to your hair,” she said.

“You’re doing what?” he said.

“Well, I can’t leave you to get ice, you passed out again!” she said. “I was a little worried you were going to have a seizure on me.”

“Christ Almighty, Lewis, how do you come up with this stuff?” he said.

“I thought it was clever problem solving, given my limited options for first-aid,” she said. “We’ll just cut it out of the long hair when SHIELD gets here.”

“Dammit, Lewis, my hair is my best feature now,” he grumbled, feeling the soda can shift.

“Hush, it’ll grow back,” she told him.“Now, I’m getting you some food.” She went over to the microwave and he closed his eyes. “Don’t fall asleep,” she told him.

“I’m not, I’m just hanging onto my Coke can and being a good boy,” he said dryly. He was actually exhausted. And probably hungry. His appetite had been wonky since they dug him out of Triskelion, too. There was a beep and suddenly Lewis was poking him awake. He blinked and looked at the tray in her hands.

“I’m not eating that,” he said. “It’s all carbs!”

“It’s Trader Joe’s reduced guilt, okay?” she said. “It tastes normal, though.”

“No,” Rumlow said.

“Jesus Christ, eat the mac n’ cheese, I can hear your stomach growling through your armor, Rumlow,” she told him.

“You---” he sputtered,

“Are feeding you, yes. You’ve fainted twice in front of me. If all I wanted to do was tase you and throw you in jail, I would’ve become a vigilante. Heroism involves kindness, dipshit,” she sassed, waving the fork near his face. He sighed. “Open your mouth,” she said.

“You’re very bossy,” he said. “Bet the British guy loves that.” He opened his mouth.

“Shut up,” she said, sticking the fork in his mouth. “Also, we broke up,” she said, as he chewed. “So, no, he didn’t love it after all,” she added, scooping up more pasta.

“He was always a pasty weirdo,” Rumlow said.

“Just because Ian can actually read, that doesn’t make him weird,” she said.

“Ian,” he scoffed. “You think my name is dumb?”

“Brock,” she repeated teasingly. “Your name is Brrrrrock,” she drawled, rolling her Rs.

“I can read,” he said, eating another forkful.

“But apparently, you’d rather rob,” she said.

“Is that a weird pun?” he said. “Or a movie reference?”

“I dunno, is it? You say you can read--” she began.

“Just feed me some more macaroni, goddammit,” he said. His stomach growled.

“Oooh, that was really audible,” she said. “That wasn’t a reading pun, either.”

“Yeah,” he said. “A pun?” He frowned.

“Audible is the audiobook people. When did you last eat?” she asked.

“Oh,” he said. “I, uh, shit, when did I eat?” he wondered. “My head--it doesn’t hurt, it’s just, uh, fuzzy?”

“How many forks am I holding up?” she teased.

“One fork. You’re enjoying this too much,” he said.

“Yes, I enjoy having terrifying men under my complete power and feeding them,” she said. “It’s a new kink I developed after I trapped Ivan Vanko under one of Jane’s thingamajigs and then fed him my Eggos a few years ago,” she said.

“You’re fucking with me, right?” he said, as she scraped the plastic tray with fork.

“How will you ever know?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows.

“You’re totally shitting me,” he said, shaking his head.

“He gave me his bird,” she said. “And he makes me such interesting art in prison.” She rolled her eyes towards her desk. Behind the laptop, there was a collage of a tropical bird made out of magazine pieces.

“Motherfucker, he did,” Brock said. “What’s the bird’s name?”

“It has a Russian name, but I call him Hitchcock,” she said.

“The bird’s name is Hitchcock,” Rumlow said slowly.

“That’s a pun. Sort of,” Darcy said, continuing to feed him. “Do you want cornbread? I have cornbread?”

“Do you have anything that’s not a carb?” he said.

“Nope,” she told him, smirking. “I think we should check your Coke can, though. I might need to swap it out with a fresh cold one.”

“Oh God,” he said.

 

They were wheeling him out on a SHIELD stretcher when she wiped his mouth with a paper towel. He breathed in. “You had a little cheese sauce,” she said.

“Can I, uh, be your second prison pen pal?” Rumlow asked carefully. He watched her face.

“Yeah, of course you can,” she said, voice sarcastic. ”I want a letter a week,” she told him. The SHIELD agent stared, dumb-founded.

“Ma’am,” he said. “That’s a prisoner.”

“Sure I am,” Rumlow said. He grinned at Darcy and mouthed _for now_. “I’ll send you a letter once they process me,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” she said, sounding skeptical.

“I will,” he said. “I’ll send two a week, sweetheart. Be your favorite pen pal soon.”

 

***

 

When Jane came back from her Darcy-mandated vacation with Thor, she got the mail from their office mailbox. “Is that new artwork from Iowa?” she said, peering at the signature scrawled on the bird collage.

“Yup,” Darcy said. “Came in the last care package from Clint, along with some of Laura’s cornbread. I ate that, though. Sorry.”

“No problem. Cooper is getting so good at his artwork,” Jane said, sorting through things. “We had a security alert on Saturday, too?”

“I handled it,” Darcy said. “It wasn’t anything to worry about.”

“I hope it didn’t take too much time---who is writing you from SHIELD's jail in DC?” Jane said. She’d found a stamped envelope in the mail. It was a thick envelope.

“Someone we met in New Mexico has been in some major trouble lately,” Darcy said.

“Oh,” Jane said. She passed Darcy the envelope.

“Will they be in jail long?” Jane asked, as she opened it.

“I have no idea,” Darcy said, unfolding the multiple page document. “He should be. But he can read and write, apparently.”

“Huh?” Jane said. Darcy started to laugh. “What is it?” Jane asked.

“He sent me a poem, along with the letter,” she said, snorting. “He rhymed feed and bleed.”

 


	18. arizona (cold feet part v)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! This is a more dramatic one, so trigger warnings for the Snap, angst, and people having slightly dubcon-ish sex to numb pain at the beginning of the story. In this AU, Crossbones never died, because he channeled his energies into a criminal empire, instead of revenge. But everything else is pretty canon-compliant. Part V of a multi-chapter (previous chs. 11-14) thing that....just grew like a vine on me. All chapters are marked "cold feet" in parenthesis.

Darcy was at work, but she couldn’t stop worrying about him. Brock was anxious, Darcy could tell, she just didn’t know why. He’d left this morning for the gym without kissing her goodbye. He’d been going to the gym early and staying late for his afternoon boxing sessions multiple days in a row. They’d had a great time when he was helping her with the 501c(3)  paperwork to set up the foundation the other week, so she didn’t think it was that. Everything was going well on that front: she was getting lots of interest in a private foundation to get girls into STEM, especially girls from lower income backgrounds. Darcy sighed and wondered if it was a money thing? He’d said he wanted to give her funding and he was usually generous, but what if some part of him was balking at letting go of so much money at once? That could be it. He’d transitioned fully to legal work now and Darcy wondered if there was something going on with the business. Everything seemed stable there, though. 

 

At the end of the day, Darcy decided to meet him at the gym, instead of going home and waiting for him. She could see how he was there and that might help clarify for her whether or not whatever was happening in his brain was general or specific to her. She tried not to dwell on even more upsetting possibilities, like the idea that he could be preparing to leave her. People pulled away before they left. Ian had done it to her, so long ago that it seemed like an entire lifetime, but in retrospect, there had been signs. Not talking as much, being distant and standoffish. If Brock wanted to leave her, though, she didn’t want to prolong the awful feeling of dreading it.

 

She parked outside the gym, took a deep breath, and steeled herself to go in. His car was in the parking lot, so he was obviously here. She had almost been afraid it wouldn’t be. Waving to the gym owner making people run sprints outside in the parking lot, she went in. Brock was sparring with a guy she recognized as one of his professional fighter buddies. They must be doing punching drills, because his friend was using pads, trying to dodge Brock’s blows, outstep him. They went back and forth.  _ Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.  _ Brock was drenched in sweat.  _ Thwack. Thwack.  _ He must be hyper-focused on his hits, because he didn’t notice she was here or stop to joke with any of the guys like she’d seen him do before. She studied the two men as they circled and their shoes squeaked on the gym floor, without calling attention to herself for ten minutes or so. Then the owner came back inside and spotted her. “Hey, Commander, your lady’s here! You ignoring her?” he yelled. Brock looked up. His face did a funny thing when he realized she was actually there and Darcy felt her heart sink and land somewhere in the vicinity of her toes. 

 

He didn’t want her there.

 

Brock stopped, said something to the other guy, and began shedding his protective gloves and headgear. His soaking hair clung to his forehead and he brushed it off and frowned as he walked over to her. “I’m a mess,” he said, without preamble. 

“That’s okay,” she said, hugging him lightly. She tried not be wounded when he kept his arms away from her body.

“You’re gonna be all sweaty,” he said.

“So?” she said in his mangled ear. He sighed.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Thought I’d check on you, make sure you weren’t slacking off on your fitness,” she said, trying to keep her voice light and teasing-sounding. Normal. 

“No,” he said, looking over her shoulder at some middle distance. “Working on my shit, as usual.” His voice was flat. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said, kneading down one of his scarred, damp biceps with her fingers. She traced her fingers across the visible vein on his forearm. 

“You want to get dinner?” he said suddenly, looking down at her as she thumbed over his wrist, looped her fingers through his. “I’ll grab a shower,” he said, detaching his hand gently.

 

He wanted her to follow him to the restaurant in her car, which set off alarm bells in Darcy’s head. Not just bells, sirens. He usually wanted her to ride with him whenever they met somewhere and went to dinner. So they could talk and, in his words, she “didn’t have to play in traffic.” They always picked up her car later. Since when did he not want to talk to her? Since when did he avoid touching her?

“This is definitely not fucking normal,” Darcy said out loud, eyeing his tail lights suspiciously. What could be making him so distant? There was that cute new woman in IT support at his company. She was so charming that Darcy had noticed the cuteness. What was her name? Lauren. Her name was Lauren. They’d talked about Darcy’s homemade scarf the last time she’d stopped by the office. Was he seeing someone like that? This was exactly how it had gone with Ian, she realized. The distance and then, surprise, the other woman. She spent the next twenty minutes gritting her teeth and thinking about all the sex he could be having with Lauren at work. Jane had always teased her about having a vivid imagination. By the time she followed him into the restaurant parking lot, she was furious.

“Hey,” he said, sunglasses on, as she got out of her car. 

“Hey,” she said, sullenly, shutting her car door with force. He couldn’t even look at her? 

“You okay?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m just peachy,” Darcy said.

“You don’t sound peachy,” he said, stopping on the line between parking spaces. “You’re mad.”

“I’m mad because you’re taking me to a restaurant for this? We’ve been together for two years and you don’t even have the decency to do this at home?”

“Two years?” he said doubtfully.

“Arizona was in the spring, it’s been basically two years,” Darcy said. He rubbed his forehead.

“Yeah,” he said, raking a hand over his chin. “Shit.” He sighed.

“Well,” Darcy said. “C’mon, tell me.”

“You wanna do this in a parking lot?” he said.

“I’d rather do it here than inside, where I’ve got to sit there like an idiot and be quiet while you tell me sorry, we’re over, because oh, you’re in love with the IT woman now--” Darcy said hotly. He was leaning an arm against her car. She realized he was staring at her.

“You think I’m cheating?” he said.

“You’re distant, you’re staying at the gym longer, you’ve got a cute coworker,” she said, counting it off on her fingers.

“Who?” he said.

“Lauren. Lauren! Don’t you give me that look, she’s totally--are you laughing right now?” Darcy said. His face had split into a grin.

“That is not why I brought you here,” he said, shaking his head. He stepped closer to her. “You think I wanna leave you?” he asked, cupping her face.

“You don’t?” Darcy said. He shook his head.

“No,” he said, expression intense.

“You didn’t hug me back there,” she told him.

“I was all sweaty,” he grumbled. “But we do need to talk about some things,” he said, wrapping his arms around her. “Let’s go in, okay?”

“Okay,” she said. They held each other in the parking lot for a second, though. 

“Lauren?” he teasingly said as they walked in.

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t noticed she’s cute and has those boobs,” Darcy said.

“Somebody noticed,” he said.

“Women flirt with you everywhere, it’s constant,” Darcy said.

“Does this happen mostly in your imagination?” Brock said wryly.

“It happens,” she grumbled. “That woman flirted with you at the movies last week.”

“People are nice to me because the burn scars make them uncomfortable, sweetheart,” he said.

“She told me you were  _ such a sweetie,  _ that’s not uncomfortable talking, she was into you,” Darcy insisted. He smirked.  __

 

He turned serious again once they were seated. “Will you just tell me what’s going on, if it’s not someone else?” Darcy asked, when she could see he was rolling ideas around in his head, trying to start sentences. 

“It’s not someone else,” he said. 

“Well, then, what is it?” Darcy asked, watching him. He seemed to be trying to pull himself together. He ran his tongue over his lips. 

“Arizona,” he said, sighing.

“What?” Darcy said.

“You count Arizona as the beginning of our relationship,” he said quietly. “And I can’t stop thinking about that, feeling guilty about that.”

“You’re feeling bad about that?” Darcy said, genuinely puzzled. “That’s what’s bothering you?” She stared at him. He was avoiding her eyes.

“The best relationship of my life happened because I physically forced you to work for me--and, oh, yeah, you slept with me and you lived with me, but you were alone in a disaster scenario and clinically depressed,” he said in a low voice. “So, that’s on me, taking advantage of you.”

“I don’t really think about it like that,” she said honestly. “We’re both so different now. Everything’s different. Mostly because you kept insisting we could find the doctor I felt comfortable with,” she added.

“You should probably hate me,” he said, tense. “I shouldn’t have this life.” He shook his head.

“What brought this on?” Darcy asked carefully. “You were fine a few weeks ago.”

“I’ve been thinking about the future,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Where we’re going. Did I take the future you could have had?” he asked. “With somebody better?”

“Who?” Darcy said, baffled. “There’s nobody else I want to be with.”

“Baby, you never even looked,” he said. “Did you even date anybody when we weren’t together?”

“I went out,” Darcy said defensively. 

 

They were still debating it when they got home that night. Darcy put her bag down with a plop as he went into the kitchen for water. She could hear him muttering. He was actually verbally reprimanding himself, Darcy thought. Finally, she got a little irritated. “Shut up,” she yelled. “Shut up and let me talk, okay?” She sat down on the couch.

“Okay,” he said, blinking in surprise at her tone.

“You do not get to erase my agency like that,” she said firmly. “I’m choosing to be with you now. Every day, I choose to be with you. I could leave at any time. I  _ did  _ leave you. And I came back because this is where I want to be.” She crossed her arms and looked at him expectantly.

“But what if I hadn’t bought you that place, huh? What if you’d moved to Florida or some shit--” he began, fiddling with his water bottle lid.

“You think I would have moved to Florida? Like a grandma?” Darcy said, incredulous.

“You like warm weather,” he said, looking over her shoulders, expression tense. The house had floor-to-ceiling windows, so you could see the city’s lights in the distance, but she knew he wasn’t really looking at the view. 

“Well, then I definitely would have come back,” Darcy said, snorting. Then she turned serious again. “I’m not passively going along with this relationship because you’re all big and bad and I’m helpless, okay? I want to be here. ”

“But there’s how we met and the money, too,” he said, swallowing.

“Yeah, well, guess what? In real life, people don’t perfectly match. Today, you’ve got more money than me. One day, you’re going to be really freaking old and I’m still going to be comparatively young and cute and probably flirting with your home healthcare worker,” Darcy said.

“What?” he said.

“Also, I’m much better educated than you,” Darcy mused. “I had two minors at Culver, with all my major changes. That ought to count in my favor.”

“My home healthcare worker?” he said.

“Did you want a male nurse or a female one?” she asked. “I could probably get both and pay extra for cute ones who are aspiring actors from USC.” She giggled at his slightly-offended expression.

“That--that shit is not funny,” he said. He was frowning. He turned back to the fridge, then paused, half-looked over his shoulder. “You really want to be with me when I’m old?” he said.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “I’m very happy.” 

“You, uh, would you want to ever, uh, marry me?” he said. “Because that’s what I’ve been thinking about.” He looked at her with a hopeful expression. “Whether I deserved to even ask you,” he said quietly.

 


	19. this isn't my car?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OTP prompt for winchesterxgirl:
> 
> “I’ve been trying to unlock my car for an hour but my keys aren’t working, and I finally get so frustrated that I start kicking the tires, which is when you walk up, choke on your drink, and immediately demand to know why I’m kicking your car and ohmygod this is YOUR car???” AU
> 
> https://writing-and-nutmeg.tumblr.com/post/185025068611/otp-prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

Darcy was not used to this no-key thing. She and Jane had been driving battered, used cars for so long that this new SHIELD company vehicle was the first car Darcy had driven without an actual, physical key. It just had a fob. Supposedly, if you kept the fob in your pocket, the car would unlock when you pressed a button on the handle. Should unlock. But not Darcy and Jane’s car.

 

She circled the sedan. She moved the keyfob from one pocket to another. She waved it front of the driver’s door. The passenger door. Each back door. She pressed the button twice. She pressed the button five times. She cussed at the button. “Why won’t you unlock, you asshole car?!” she yelled at the sedan. “Unlock, you bastard!” Darcy had been circling her parking space for thirty-two minutes. In frustration, she kicked at the tires, missed, and sort of fell backward onto the SUV parked next to her. “Motherfreaker!” she said. “Arghhhhhhhhh! Worst freaking first day ever.” She was so frustrated, she tried to kick the tire again.

“What are you doing?” a male voice said sharply. Darcy looked up. A guy in tactical gear was frowning at her. “Don’t kick my damn car,” he said.

“Your car?” Darcy said. “This isn’t my car?”

“My car,” he said firmly, stepping over to unlock it with his own--identical to hers---no-key keyfob. The door opened. He looked at her.

“Oh my God--I am so sorry,” she said, cringing. He stared at her and it was so intimidating, she started to babble. “It’s my first day and I’ve never had a car without a key and these are identical and I’m so, so sorry,” she stammered out.

“You didn’t damage the tires,” he said. He was incredibly gorgeous, but there was no warmth in his expression. No engagement. Just a flat look.

“No,” she said slowly. She was pretty sure the fall into the SUV in the next space had damaged her own elbow, but she didn’t think he’d care about that. “I’m just--just gonna go,” Darcy said, stumbling backwards a little.

“Yeah,” he said. He watched her leave with an odd look.

 

She found her car two rows down. “Damn it, now I’m the workplace idiot again,” Darcy said to herself. “I thought this wouldn’t happen once I wasn’t around all the doctoral candidates and PhDs anymore.” She sighed and grabbed her phone to tell Jane that she would be waiting around front, as usual. Jane liked to work as late as possible, so Darcy always brought the car around. Jane probably hadn’t even registered that she’d been gone so long.   

 

Darcy saw Hot But Probably Angry Tire Guy around SHIELD a lot over the next few weeks. It turned out he was one of those super high-ranking agents who’d worked with Captain America and the Black Widow. Darcy had met them briefly at Stark parties. But Tire Guy was almost as famous as them: he’d been a triple agent within HYDRA when most of his team were genuine Nazis, secretly fed information to Fury during the Uprising, had smuggled Hill into a van to rescue Cap, Nat, and cute cinnamon roll Sam Wilson, and finally survived the fall of Triskelion itself because he’d been exposed to one of HYDRA’s crazy serum programs. Helen Cho had patched up his extensive burns with her Cradle tech.

Darcy hadn’t just kicked anybody’s tires. She’d kicked the tires of somebody whose SHIELD celebrity ranked _just under Captain America and the Black Widow._

 

She was so the workplace idiot again.

 

Darcy was late one morning and trying to hurry across the new complex with she and Jane’s coffee in a cardboard tray, shopping tote of Jane’s favorite new notebooks, and some fruit in the empty tray spaces for Jane (the tiny scientist needed more vitamins, her doctor said). Darcy rounded a corner and wasn’t fast enough to dodge the person coming the same way at top speed. She tried to stop, but she was a fraction too late. Everything was slow-mo:  Her coffee tray collided with his chest, the coffee sloshed before she could jerk it back, and a glug of coffee spilled on him. “Oh, no,” Darcy said. “Oh _no.”_ Coffee dripped down Tire Guy’s muscular forearm. Her apple had fallen, too; Darcy was oddly fascinated by the single line of caramel macchiato running down his wrist. The Fuji apple rolled across the linoleum floor behind them. It was a whole tableaux. Tire Guy blinked at her. “I am so sorry,” she said. “I don’t know _why_ these things happen to me when you’re around.”

“So, it’s my fault, huh?” he said.

“No, no, no, I, uh, I didn’t mean it like that, it’s not like you’re cursed or whatever. Oh God, I shouldn’t have said that, that’s really insensitive of me. Really, you’re lucky! You’re a lucky person, you’re alive,” she babbled. “An unlucky person wouldn’t have survived...all of that.” She wanted to sink into the carpet and die.

“Survived your apple?” he said, frowning and looking speculatively down at his coffee-stained arm. He lifted the edge of his shirt to wipe it and she was given a close-up view of the most amazing abs she’d ever seen. Rows of defined muscle.

“Uhhhhh,” Darcy said. She couldn’t make words. The phrase _climb him like a tree_ pinballed across the backs of her eyeballs, her brain went a little haywire, and she briefly felt like she’d left her body. She was back in her body when it dawned on her that he expected a response. Her mouth was open and he was looking at her and she was a complete idiot and he was literally so handsome. Even more handsome than she’d been thinking in the parking lot. The sunglasses had hidden some of those cheekbones and the precise color of his eyes, not to mention how well the tac gear had obscured that body. Hidden it. “Black hides coffee stains!” she said. It was the only thing she could think of.

“Uh-huh,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “Blood stains, too.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Hadn’t thought of that.” He bent down fluidly and picked up her apple, setting it in the tray.

“Here you go, _ciccia,_ ” he said. “On my way to a briefing,” he told her and walked away.

“Thank you,” she called weakly. He waved two fingers over his shoulder as he sped up to a jog.

 

“Damn it, damn it, damn it,” Darcy fumed, when she got to the lab.

“What’s wrong?” Jane said.

“I’m the workplace idiot again,” she said. “I just embarrassed myself in front of Tire Guy another time.” She sighed.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Jane said.

“I was momentarily rendered speechless when he had to wipe off your macchiato with his shirt and I saw his abs,” Darcy said. “I said _black hides stains_ like a talking toy!”

“Eh,” Jane said, “some men like that.”

“Yeah, right,” Darcy said. “He called me a word I didn't understand, which probably means it's Mandarin for "idiot" or something. I'm sure he thinks I’m lab Barbie, minus the blonde. I don’t wanna be lab Barbie. I wasn’t supposed to be that girl here, Jane!”

“What girl?” Jane said.

“Your hot assistant with the boobs and no discernible academic qualifications, the one that a man couldn’t hire without HR giving him the side-eye,” Darcy said.

“Please you have years of experience. I trained you perfectly,” Jane said.

“Thank you,” Darcy said, mopping the sides of their cups.

“And someone with academic qualifications would argue with my science,” Jane mused. “They always do. No one ever believes me but you---until the portal opens up. So, really, your ignorance is a strength.”  

“That’s very reassuring,” Darcy said sarcastically.

 

A few days later, she was helping Jane give a presentation about her work to a bunch of SHIELD agents. After the Q&A, Darcy was gathering Jane’s presentation gear, while Jane chatted. “Darce,” Jane called.

“Yeah?” Darcy said. She looked up from where she was unplugging a laptop. Agent Tire Guy was standing next to Jane. “Hi,” Darcy said, walking over. He was chewing gum.

“This is Commander Rumlow”--Jane didn’t realize it was also Tire Guy, obviously--”can you show him that data set again?”

“Of course,” Darcy said. “Follow me?”

“Sure,” he said. He followed her to the laptop and she pulled up the part of Jane’s research relevant to his question. She showed him the data set, they discussed it, and he paused for a moment. “So,” he asked. “How’s your coffee?”

“What?” Darcy stuttered.

“Did it survive?” he said.

“Yes,” she said, biting her lip.

“That’s too bad, I was going to ask if you want a replacement coffee?” he said calmly.

“Uh, oh, sure,” Darcy said, her voice stuttering again. Was he asking--no, he couldn’t be. Could he? He smiled and it almost made her dizzy, the way it changed his whole face.

“Caramel macchiato, right?” he said. Darcy nodded, trying not to grin too wildly back. “I’ll get you one,” he said. “Hot or cold?”

“Hot,” she said, flicking her eyes from his face down his torso.

“I know,” he said, grinning and raking his eyes over her more slowly, so it was obvious. “I’ll get you that coffee, _ciccia.”_

"What does that even mean?" she murmured under her breath, as he jogged off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ciccia = literally, "plump, fleshy," but used as an endearment, like honey and sugar in English.


	20. silly of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 1363 for winchesterxgirl
> 
> “You said you’d do anything for me.”  
> “Yeah, that was silly of me, wasn’t it?”
> 
> https://humdrummoloch.tumblr.com/post/185023185808/1363

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! So, this ficlet has spoilers for the events in my to-be-finished story, "Marriage, Italian-American Style" in it, oh, ten years in the future. No biggie. You've been warned!
> 
> Mimma = "baby girl"

_“Mimma,”_ Brock said, looking at her from across the kitchen table with a serious expression. “It’s dangerous.”

“I cannot believe you’re being like this,” she told him angrily, crossing her arms over her chest. “You do this kind of thing _every single day,_ but I’m not allowed?” she pointed out.

“Carina,” he said, sighing.

“We’re done talking,” she said sharply.

“Hey, we’re done talking when I say we are,” he said, but she had already turned to flee the room. He listened as she stomped upstairs. He knew she was cussing at him under her breath. He got up and found Darcy in the living room. She was going through some of Jane’s paperwork for a conference.

“Hello,” she said. He could tell she was suppressing a grin.

“Hey,” he said, slumping down next to her and changing the channel to CNN. “When did our daughter get so stubborn?” he asked, rubbing his forehead. Darcy looked at him and actually started to laugh. “What?” he said.

“When she was three, she refused to ever eat peas again, when she was in pre-K, she punched a kid for being a bully, at eight she told us she was never having babies because--and I quote-- “babies are too messy,” none of this should be a surprise to you,” Darcy said.

“But boxing?” he said. “She’s ten and she wants to box?”

“Weren’t you fifteen?” Darcy said.

“That was different,” he said.

“Oh yeah? How?” she asked.

“She’s got those nice teeth. Naturally,” he said. “And people are gonna want to hit her in the face.” He sighed.

“That sounds vaguely sexist,” Darcy said. He snorted. They sat in silence for a moment.

“She looks too much like you for me to be able to handle people hitting her, okay?” he said.

“She might look more like me, but she has your personality,” she told him. “If this is what she wants to do….”

“You gonna get the bail money for when somebody takes a really good whack at her and I lose my shit?” Brock asked.

“I’ll use that fund I have for Jane and the elderly male scientists who check out her ass,” Darcy said calmly.

“You’re only calm about this because you don’t know how much meaner the girl boxers are,” he said. “They’re much more relentless than the boys, it’s a credibility thing.” Darcy raised an eyebrow. “It’s like how strip clubs are crazier on ladies night, because women behave better most of the time,” he said. “Sort of.”

“Where did that anecdote come from?” Darcy said, laughing.

“Kevin. He works as a bouncer sometimes,” he said. “He got bit trying to break up a fight between two bachelorette parties recently.”

“Kevin might be a good person for her to train with, he’s very patient,” Darcy said.

“He weighs two hundred and thirty-five pounds,” Brock said in horror. “He’s a goddamn wall, I can’t even get through him.”

“Well, they won’t be really fighting,” Darcy said. “Besides, it might boost her confidence to have a really strong trainer.”

“Jesus,” he said.

“She’s very emotionally mature for her age,” Darcy pointed out.

“I’m not,” he said.

 

Brock went upstairs and found her sitting in her room. “I’m really upset with you right now,” Carina said, taking off her headphones and turning down the music she was listening to.

“I know,” he said. He sat on the edge of her bed and looked around the room. She’d changed all the colors in her bedroom recently. Decided she didn’t like her old yellow walls. He’d been surprised by how much painting over them had felt wistful.

“Do you remember when I started kindergarten?” Carina said.

“Yeah?” he said.

“I was scared,” she said.

“You weren’t that scared,” he said.

“I was a lot scared,” she said. “But you said that if anything happened, all I had to do was call and you’d drop everything. You said you’d do anything for me.”

“Yeah, that was silly of me, wasn’t it? I should have looked at the fine print,” Brock said. “I was sort of imagining you’d want to go to Disney World or something, not boxing.”

“You can take Mom, she loves Disney,” Carina said.

“Yeah,” he said.

“I’m going to do it,” she told him. “Mom and Aunt Jane won’t let you stop me.”

“I know,” he said. There was silence. “You’re sure though? You wouldn’t rather play soccer?”

“Dad,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve been going with you to the gym since before I could walk. You used to take me in the carrier. I’ve seen the pictures.”

“Okay,” he said, leaning over and kissing her on the forehead. “You wanna go with me tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she said, beaming.

“It’s five am,” he said. “No slacking.”

 


	21. Leggo my Eggo?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tumblr prompt I did just for me:
> 
> A: You lied to me!  
> B: No I didn't, I just left out a few crucial details about myself
> 
> https://yespumpkindoodlesthings.tumblr.com/post/185076493173/1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Yeah, this is my riff on "The Back Up Plan," basically. Minus the cute dogs, alas. Earning our M-rating after the first asterisks.

“Women are fully capable of being independent,” Darcy snarked at the television screen. They were doing a story on declining American marriage rates in the younger generation.

“Darce,” Jane said. “Are you glaring at the TV?”

“No, I’m just giving the evil eye to that male commentator,” Darcy said. “Mr. Smug Face McBowtie, who just implied women are single because we’re loud, bossy, and make our husbands feel inadequate by not being happy little housewives.”

“Ugh,” Jane said.

“I suck at being a housewife, anyway,” Darcy said. She’d tried with Ian for awhile, while he did research in Finland, but she had missed Jane like crazy and she and Ian had not seen eye-to-eye on household labor. Darcy had never done the laundry right. Ian hated her cooking. Nothing was ever where Ian wanted it to be. She bought the wrong kind of trash bags, apparently. “Who wants food without seasoning?” Darcy muttered, clattering her cereal spoon.

“British people,” Jane said. She’d heard that story before. Many times. “They think salt is a hot spice.”

“I’m not having a baby with a man,” Darcy announced suddenly.

“What?” Jane said.

“I’m going to have a baby as a single mom,” she said. “I’ll use a sperm donor.”

“Sure,” Jane said. “People do that.”

“They do!” Darcy said. “I could. I could do that.”

 

Jane assumed that Darcy was just venting about Ian. But Darcy was actually serious. The next day, Jane caught Darcy looking up single-mom groups in DC. They’d recently relocated there so Jane could do work on a year-long research project for SHIELD. She’d been doubtful, but Thor had convinced her. “I’m going to go to this,” Darcy said. “Talk to people.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” Jane asked.

“If I go again,’ Darcy said. “I want to suss it out for the first time by myself, see how people really respond to a single mom. If we go together, people will assume we’re lying when we say we aren’t a couple. You already finish my sentences.”

“Yeah,” Jane said, “I do, don’t I?”

Darcy took her research seriously. She went to support groups, she read blogs, she made an appointment with her OB-GYN. Her doctor referred her to a fertility specialist. She made an appointment. She talked to a lawyer friend from Culver, too; Foggy didn’t specialize in custody laws, but Darcy wanted to make sure that she got all her stuff together. The more she thought about it, the more certain she was that she wanted to do this. She was totally capable, she thought, after all, she’d kept Jane alive and she’d never met a baby as fussy as Jane. She started assessing the men around her based entirely on their baby-making genetic material.

  
“It’s really too bad I didn’t know Scott Lang as more than a casual acquaintance, because he’d be the perfect sperm donor,” Darcy announced in the lab one day. “Great personality, very cute, intelligent--”

“He’d totally want to be involved, though,” Jane pointed out. “He’s a really good dad. Perfect dad. It would break his heart to be just a donor.”

“True,” Darcy said. “So would Clint. Steve’s too old-fashioned, too. Pepper would murder me if I asked Tony, you’d murder me if I asked Thor--”

“You know it,” Jane said smoothly.

“Bucky and Sam are on that cross-country road trip to bro-bond,” Darcy mused. “Who am I forgetting?”

“Loki,” Jane said.

“Oh my God, no way would he be okay with me having solo custody. He’d spoil my baby to make up for his childhood issues. It would be like a blue version of, like--what’s a spoiled kid?” Darcy asked.

“One of those Willy Wonka kids,” Jane said.

“Ugh, I hated that movie. Freaking creepy,” Darcy said. “My kid won’t see that, _The Wizard of Oz,_ or _Alice in Wonderland_ , they’re too upsetting. But that’s my entire list of trusted male friends who I’d ask,” Darcy said. “I need to go look at the donor files again. I already have my Clomid to up my egg production and my ovulation app, I just need to pick a donor.”

The problem was, the donor files were _extensive._ Darcy had a difficult time choosing what to order in a restaurant and now she was ordering a bio dad. The cryobank provided a huge searchable database--general information, but also staff impressions, childhood photos, even sketches--with sweet names for each donor. “He lights up a room.” Darcy said, scrolling with her laptop, as he read the description of a donor nicknamed Mr. Optimism. “That sounds good,” she mused out loud. But he was fair and blonde. She decided she wanted a baby that would look more like her. No Ian-ish blondes. So, she made an appointment for her IUI and picked a dark-haired, green eyed donor, nicknamed “Sweetheart Chef.” He allegedly looked like Mark Consuelos, liked to cook, spoke Portuguese, and was described as a “total sweetheart.” His favorite thing was Carrot Cake. Darcy made a really good Carrot Cake cupcake. Steve had requested that multiple times. She took that as a sign. Darcy clicked add to cart on the most expensive sperm of her life. It would be overnighted for her insemination. “Come on, cooler of good Portuguese-Italian sperm. Come to mama,” she said. Then she checked her ovulation calendar again.

The insemination was easier than she expected. “I think you’ll have no difficulty getting pregnant, since you’re only thirty-one,” her physician said, at the end of the procedure.

“Great,” Darcy said. “Can I put my pants on now?”

“Yes,” her doctor said, laughing.

“You have no idea how many times I’ve said that after someone tried to put sperm in me,” she joked. “This is just the one time I wanted to be pregnant.”

“In a few weeks, you’ll find out for sure,” the doctor said. In the meantime, they were keeping her sperm in the deep freeze, like it was an extra push pop. Darcy hadn’t told anyone but Jane and Thor and her mom--it was no one’s business after all--so she just said she was giving up alcohol and taking extra vitamins as part of a health thing at work.

“Do you still want to go out for normal things, like Steve’s restaurant thing for Nat’s birthday?” Jane asked. That was a few weeks away.

“Of course,” Darcy said. “I can still celebrate birthdays and we don’t even know if I’ve got Eggos in the toaster yet.” They’d started joking at work about Darcy’s love of “Eggos” so she could mention the baby in secret.

 

A few days before Nat’s birthday, Darcy felt a little queasy when she lit her favorite scented candle. She bought a pregnancy test and called Jane. Jane and a beaming Thor stood in the living room while Darcy peed on the stick. “Well?” Jane called through the door.

“Hasn’t been enough minutes!” Darcy called back. “Also, it’s very difficult to squat, aim, and hold a stick!” She washed her hands.

“Would Heimdall know?” Jane asked Thor. He shrugged.

“No cheating, Miss Impatient,” Darcy said, opening the door. “I’m setting the kitchen timer and then we wait like normals.”

“When did you get so serious?” Jane said.

“This is serious. That sperm was nine-hundred dollars. I’m gonna yoga breathe,” Darcy said. “I want it to have worked this time, so I can have money left over for the actual baby.”

“I had no idea sperm was so expensive,” Jane said.

“If I want free sperm, I have to drive to another town and pick up a stranger and then avoid seeing them forever,” Darcy said.

“I could take you anywhere on Midgard with Mjolnir,” Thor said.

  
“Excellent idea,” Darcy said. “Sneak attack on some good-looking sperm from Lisbon.” She was sort of attached to the idea of a half-Portuguese-American baby now. Jane snorted. They waited the required minutes, then Darcy added another minute, “just in case.”

“Now? Jane said.

“Oh, God, I’m so nervous,” Darcy confessed.

“Can I look?” Jane begged.

“Go, go,” Darcy said. “Tell me if we have Eggos?” A beaming Jane returned, waving the stick.

“We have Eggos!” she yelled.

"Ahhhhh!" Darcy shrieked. "I'm pregnant!" Darcy and Thor hugged and bounced up and down. Jane joined the group hug.

“This is so exciting,” Jane said.

“Okay, but put the stick back, I peed on it,” Darcy said. Jane was still hanging onto it.

They went to the birthday dinner at the Arlington restaurant as a beaming trio with a happy secret. Darcy had given Natasha her present---a new book on one of Natasha’s hobbies, tarot card reading--when some of the STRIKE guys walked in. Darcy’s head swiveled. “Yum,” she said to Jane in a whisper. She’d looked at so many dark-haired donor guy profiles lately, the one at the front caught her eye. “Very yum,” Darcy added, noticing the tattoos on the backs of his muscular arms. Jane rolled her eyes. “What? It’s my special vitamins, they make me feel all fluttery,” Darcy joked. She had experienced a little more, ahem, interest in chiseled, muscular SHIELD agents while she took the Clomid; her doctor said that was to be expected.

“You’ve been saying that since the day you got the prescription,” Jane said, as Darcy locked eyes with the agent she’d been checking out.

He smiled at her. She smiled back. 

“He’s coming over here,” Jane said.

“So?” Darcy said.

“Are you going to tell him?” Jane asked.

“God no,” Darcy said. “Everyone would know by tomorrow. I might sleep with him, though. Why not? I’m already in trouble,” she added, smirking.

“Darcy!” Jane said, laughing. He was a few feet from her now.

“Give us a sec?” Darcy said.

“Sure,” Jane said, moving over a few feet to talk to Thor and Steve. The dark-haired guy smiled more broadly at her. His eyes practically lit up when he realized she’d shoo’d Jane off.

“Hi,” he said, “Brock Rumlow. Can I get you something?”

“I’m sure you can, but I’m not drinking tonight,” Darcy said, gesturing to her Diet Coke. His expression shifted a little, but it wasn’t disappointment, she realized.

“Yeah?” he said.

“I’m on a health kick,” she explained.

“I, uh, quit myself a while ago,” he said, face serious. “After the Uprising…” his voice trailed off.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “I know a lot of people don’t drink now.” She steered the conversation back to gentler waters, asking about local places to visit, restaurants, safe things. They talked for the entire party. Darcy realized he was very into her when she caught him giving her another of those frankly wicked grins. “Can I ask you something?” she whispered.

“Yeah?”

“What are you doing later?” she asked.

 

***

“Uhhhh,” Darcy moaned, as he gripped her thighs. She’d thrown herself at him as soon as his apartment door shut.  

“I got you, baby,” he said, carrying her to the bedroom. His hands were warm. Darcy clung to his shoulders.

“Oh my God,” she said, tilting her head back as he kissed her neck. “You are--you are so sexy,” she told him.

“Too much for you?” he said teasingly. His expression made her feel a little dizzy with lust.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. She looked curiously over her shoulder as he carried her into the room. “That,” she said, “is a very big bed.”

“I like plenty of room to move,” he told her.

“I bet you do,” Darcy said, turning to look back at him. He smoldered at her. Darcy leaned into another kiss, as he eased her onto the bed. Brock kissed her insistently, his tongue pressing between her lips, one hand holding her neck. She could feel his thumb against her nape, the warmth of his mouth against her lips, the strength of his body everywhere they were touching.  Ian had certainly never kissed her like that, ever.

This guy was aggressively sexy, she thought, her hands prying at his t-shirt. “Oh my God,” she said, as she felt the firm ridges of muscle underneath the cotton. “How--how are you built like this?” she whispered, when he broke the kiss to smirk at her.

“Hard work,” he said wryly.

“Ahh,” she said, laughing joyfully, as he reached for her pants. Darcy felt particularly wild and reckless. Since she was already pregnant, what was one fling, one night with a near-stranger, she thought, as he pulled at her leggings. _What the hell, right?_ It might be ages before she could casually pick someone up again. Years. That made tonight more thrilling, more special. She stripped her shirt off and lay back, pleased by the way he looked at her lustfully.

“You been hiding a lot under those sweaters, Darcy Lewis?” he asked.

“Aren’t you going to find out?” she said, with equal sauciness.

“I’m gonna get a condom,” he told her, moving to his nightstand.

“Hurry up, I don’t have forever,” she told him teasingly. “I’m impatient and very busy.” _And pregnant, she thought._

“You’re not going anywhere now,” he said. “Not for hours, baby.”

 

He was true to his word. Darcy found herself enjoying every corner of his very large bed. “Ohhh, Brock,” she said, as he lifted one leg over his shoulder. “I’m not sure my legs-----uhhhhh, God.”

“You can do it, baby,” he said, cupping her face. She kissed his thumb and he smirked down at her, putting more forcefulness into his thrusts.

“Uhhhhh,” Darcy moaned, closing her eyes. She wanted to remember every second of this, how amazing he felt inside her. It was like they were made for each other. Unless it was just the baby-making meds talking. “Nuh-uh,” she said out loud, accidentally. “Can’t be.”

“What?” he said, momentarily slowing the movement of his hips.

“You’re too good to be real,” she said, as he leaned down to kiss her again. His movement put pressure on her leg and the feeling of intermingled pleasure and pain made her shudder. She raked her nails across his arms reflexively and he grunted.

“Keep doing that, baby,” he said.

“Uhhhhhh,” she said. “More, more,” she said, urging him to lean against her. When he kissed her again, it was enough to push Darcy over the edge. She dug her nails into his biceps as she trembled.

“Fuck,” he said as he came, releasing her leg and slumping down. “Uhhhhhh, honey, you’re killing me,” he said. He looked at her with a dazed expression.

“I dunno, you look pretty alive to me,” she said, feeling like she was completely relaxed. Darcy reached over and rumpled his hair. He grinned at her and kissed her cheek. Darcy grinned back.

 

She should have thought to ask him to record some of last night on his phone, she thought in the morning, for when she was eight months along and felt completely un-sexy. She was getting dressed. He was lying on his belly, arms sprawled over the sheets. “Where you going?” he said suddenly, blinking up at her.

“Getting out of your hair,” she said. “Don’t you need to be at a gym or something?”

“Yeah,” he said. He rolled over and looked at her. “I had fun last night,” he said.

“Me, too,” Darcy said.

 

It was a great last fling, she thought. She certainly didn’t expect to hear from him again. But he called and asked if she wanted to hang out. So, she hooked up with him several more times. It was fun. They had dinner together sometimes, too. She was almost three months along when her morning sickness escalated to the point where she didn’t think she could hide it well enough to keep seeing him. That was when she started dodging his calls and responding lukewarmly to his texts. She was at work when he dropped by the lab. “I do something to upset you?” he asked.

“No,” Darcy said, sliding her saltines behind some books. But he’d seen them.

“You sick?” he said.

“I’m a little queasy,” she admitted. “I think it’s, uh, a stomach thing.”

“Let me take you home,” he said. Across the lab, Jane was making alarmed faces behind his back.

“No, no, Jane’s got me covered, she never gets sick and I wouldn’t want you to miss work,” Darcy said.

“Yup,” Jane said smoothly. “Haven’t caught a cold since the Aether and Thor’s totally immune!” she chirped.

“Still, you shouldn’t work sick,” Brock told her. “It’ll just made you sick longer.” He was stubbornly focused on her illness. Jeez, Darcy thought. “C’mon, honey,” he said gently.

Darcy looked at Jane. Jane waggled her brows.

  
  
***

Darcy was gagging in his bathroom when he announced he was taking her to the ER. “I’m not sick,” she said.

“You’re vomiting--”

“I’m pregnant,” Darcy said. She heard him inhale sharply.

“We’re having a baby?” Brock said. Darcy jerked her head up. A pale and startled-looking Brock was leaning against the doorframe with water.

“No, I’m having a baby,” she said, gagging. “It’s not yours.”

“What?” he said.

“I was already pregnant when we met,” she said, sitting back and sighing. “I did artificial insemination. This is the child of Donor #3578 from the New York Cryobank. The Sweetheart Chef.” That was when he dropped the bottled water and it rolled across the floor. “Thanks,” Darcy said. “It helps if I sip slowly, I don’t puke as much.”

“You were pregnant when we met?” he repeated dully.

“Yup, that’s why I don’t drink, babe.” Darcy sipped her water gently. “Bun in the oven.”

“When were you going to tell me?” he said.

“I thought you were my last fling before I got too pregnant to see my own feet, much less somebody else’s penis,” she told him.

“Shit,” he said. “I need---I need to sit down.”

“Sure,” Darcy said. She heard him muttering about having sex with someone while they were pregnant. He came back while she was yorking again.

“You--you lied to me!” he said.

“No I didn't, I just left out a few crucial details about myself,” she said, dabbing at her mouth with a paper towel.

“So, what, I’m just raising the donor’s baby now?” he said.

“Excuse me?” Darcy said. “This is my child. I’m raising them as a single mom.”

“Single moms don’t have serious boyfriends,” he grumbled. Darcy tilted her head.

“You’re serious? About me?” she asked.

“I see you whenever I’m in town,” he said. “Fuck. Fuck.” He raked a hand through her hair. “I’m crazy about you and you think I’m just a hook-up guy?” He looked horrified.

“Well, I mean, if you want to keep seeing each other, I’m delighted, but I assumed any single man would run for the hills,” Darcy said. He set his jaw.

“I’m not afraid of shit,” he said.

“Oh yeah?” Darcy said. He nodded.

“I can raise a baby,” he said.

“Okay,” she said.

“We just can’t tell my mother,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cryobanks really do describe donors like that! https://www.cryobank.com/donor/14704/
> 
> Part II: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699337/chapters/44992660


	22. Yard Work and...Explosions?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two prompts for winchesterxgirl, same universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing

**Prompt #1:**

_“So, do you still want me to pay you in sex as opposed to cash?”_

_“That was a joke. I just like hanging out with you.”_

_“But the sex is still happening right?”_

_“Of course, just make me some dinner afterwards and we’ll consider this entirely even.”_

_<https://whygodohgodwhy.tumblr.com/post/185082940579/conversation-prompt> _

 

“What are you doing?” Brock said to her at lunch. Darcy looked up from her phone.

“Yard work,” she explained. “I want to have a nice patio.” Darcy had been hanging out with Brock Rumlow since they’d moved to DC so Jane could work for SHIELD. He was fun to be around, for a guy who was famously a triple agent during the whole HYDRA thing, called her princess, and had a killer poker face. But she didn’t expect him to volunteer to help her with her new patio idea while Jane was out of town. “I need to do it while Jane’s gone this week,” Darcy explained, as he peered her googling things from Home Depot. “She thinks my ideas are bad, but they aren’t.”

“What time should I be there?” he said.

“You want to help me lay pavers?” she said. He grinned.

“Sure,” he said. “I’ll help you with your pavers. I’ll even accept alternative forms of payment, princess.”

“Oh yeah?” Darcy said, eyebrows raised.

“You can pay me in sex,” he said, in what she assumed was a teasing voice.

“Oh, sure,” Darcy said. He had to be kidding. Right? Darcy was trying not to feed her extremely healthy, thriving crush on him. Brock Rumlow was stupidly hot. When she’d first met him, she’d heard he’d once been in a relationship with Sharon freaking Carter, of all people. For sure, Darcy thought, she wasn’t his type. She was pale, squishy, and tended to sweat and frizz visibly in the DC humidity. He probably liked cool, slender, blondes who looked tidy all the time, right?

 

They went to Home Depot together. He insisted that she needed a better patio design, while Darcy got distracted by the large ceramic things that doubled as water features and some of the prettier plants. He grinned at her. “C’mon,” he said, “that can be our next project.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. “Diet Coke?” she asked at checkout, offering to buy him one.

“God, no, that’s poison sugar,” he said.

“I love poison sugar,” she said, grinning. She kept him supplied with water as they worked. Well, technically, he did most of the work and Darcy tried not to drool over his muscles when he took his shirt off. Because, of course, Brock Rumlow wasn’t just regular guy fit. He couldn’t just have a hint of abs or nice shoulders. No, he was fit like someone who’d been made in a lab supplied with a decade’s worth of _Men’s Fitness_ or the sculptures of Michelangelo. Probably both: he was all wide shoulders, biceps so large that she probably couldn’t get both her hands around them, and an astonishingly lean waist. It counted as Darcy’s first in-real-life eight pack sighting, outside of Asgard. I mean, there were rows and rows of abs, she realized. And even the veins in his arms were….oddly attractive?  Not to mention the whole thing she was developing about his clavicle. Who even realized men had those?

“You all right over there?” he asked, when he caught her staring. He paused with the shovel.

“You, um, don’t have any scars. Not that I can see,” she said, bringing him another water. He looked down at his chest and Darcy let her own eyes linger on his body closer up.

“Nah, Cho fixed me all up,” he said. “I was a mess for a year or so, though. People didn’t look at me in public.”

“No way,” Darcy said, shaking her head. “Unbelievable.”

“No, it’s true. It’s the weird thing where they want to look at your burns, but only when they think you don’t notice, so everybody was always looking at my shoulders whenever I made eye contact,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said, swallowing . “I have my doubts, but okay.” She moved to go back to work, slightly embarrassed at being caught. He snorted.

“Trust me, Lewis,” he said. “It was an interesting year. Teaches you things.”

“What kinds of things, like _I, Brock Rumlow, am still hotter than the sun?”_ Darcy joked. If she acknowledged it, that made it less of a thing, right? Neutralized it. Like acknowledging her boobs whenever she caught people staring.

“Actually,” he said, lifting a slab of slate like it was damn sheet of paper, “I was thinking that it teaches you to value different things. Real things, not appearances, princess.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, feeling like he’d somehow flummoxed her again. How could he have those abs and then say the right things like that?

“Uh-huh,” he said, setting down the stone. His muscles flexed. _Ahhhh,_ Darcy said internally. He caught her eye and actually winked at her.

“Stop that,” Darcy said.

“You want me not to flirt with you?” he said, smirking and dusting off his hands. Sweat glistened on his belly.

“It only confuses me,” Darcy said.

“What are you confused about?” he asked. He got close to her, eyes locked on hers. She was acutely conscious of him.

“What are we doing?” she said. She was asking seriously. His expression was unreadable and she studied the little flecks of green in his eyes. They were actually her favorite feature. He had beautiful eyes.

“Yard work,” he supplied, smirking and breaking the moment, to her dismay. He walked over to get another slab and Darcy felt like he’d somehow won again, tricked her with all his pretty. Damn it, Darcy thought. She’d forgotten how competitive he was. There were stories about how Brock loved to win. How he’d even saved Steve a few times. He hated to lose. So of course, he was playing a game with her. He didn’t mean any of it. She deflated a little.

But that didn’t mean she had to stand there and stammer and just let him get away with it.

“So, do you still want me to pay you in sex as opposed to cash?” she called across the yard, loud enough for the neighbors to hear. He stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“That was a joke. I just like hanging out with you,” he said. “You’re not obligated to take your clothes off just because my patio work is excellent,” Brock told her, a cocky note in his voice. How had he done it again? Darcy was fuming a little now, feeling like he’d made his disinterest too clear for her ego. He turned back and was mid-lift when she sassed him back.

“But the sex is still happening right?” Darcy said archly.

“Of course, just make me some dinner afterwards and we’ll consider this entirely even,” he said back smoothly.

 

After the patio was finished, he asked to use her shower. His smile was playful. He joked about her not wanting him dirty. “Maybe I like it dirty,” she told him, tossing him a towel as he stood in her bathroom. “You don’t know,” Darcy said. She wasn’t going to let him out-gun her, not verbally, at least. It was bad enough that he was so pretty. Instead, she made dinner while he showered, trying not to think about his proximity and nakedness. She got all distracted when she thought about him standing next to her good shampoo. All wet. She had to stop thinking about this. About him. She was stirring when she heard him moving around.

 

_In her bedroom._

 

Darcy sighed. Why couldn’t she have a little of Jane’s man-attracting mojo? Gorgeous men everywhere loved Jane. She’d even once distracted Victor Von Doom from another attempt at wooing Sue Storm at that conference. Darcy could use a little of that magic. She was tired of being the hapless lab gnome. It was easier when she was around guys like Ian and could yell, “Hey you, kiss! Now!”

 

She tried not to think about the fact that she’d been Ian’s boss at the time. Technically. It hadn’t really been sexual harassment, had it?

 

***

**Prompt #2**

_“You weren’t this mad at him when he did the same thing!”_

_“Yeah, well, he’s stupid – what’s your excuse?”_

_[ https://oopsprompts.tumblr.com/post/185034519070/you-werent-this-mad-at-him-when-he-did-the-same ](https://oopsprompts.tumblr.com/post/185034519070/you-werent-this-mad-at-him-when-he-did-the-same) _

“You got a twinge, mate?” Jack asked him in the gym. They were alternating sparring rounds. Jack had the pads on this round.

“A twinge?” Brock said, lifting his fists. “What the fuck is a twinge?” His voice was scornful.

“A bloody backache, old man,” Jack said with a grin. “You know, stooped shoulders, that sort of thing.”

“Nah,” Brock said, landing a hit. _Thwack._ “I just helped Darcy with her patio project this weekend.”

“Didya now?” Jack said. “Overdoing it to impress the girl young enough to be your daughter. That’s not a cliché,” he scoffed.

“I did it to be a friend,” Brock insisted.

“Did the shirt stay on then, mate?” Jack pointed out. He knew Brock showed off his body whenever he wanted to impress a sheila. Brock sighed quietly. “Ah ha! You tried, didn’t you?” Jack said. “She cut you cold?”

“No,” Brock grumbled. “We had a perfectly nice dinner and then I went home.” _Thwack._

“You poor lonely old man, how will you live without a trophy girlfriend half your age?” Jack joked.

“Shut up, Kangaroo Jack.” Brock landed the next hit with more force. “I really thought she was into me, though. Thought she’d maybe get in the shower with me, but, uh,” Brock said.

“Nothing doing,” Jack cracked.

“Besides, she’s not a trophy girlfriend, she’s an actual friend. I like Darcy,” Brock said. “She’s fun---and real. No, uh----”

“Dramas?” Jack offered. “She’s a laidback one. Maybe your fancy muscles don’t do anything for her.”

“Yeah,” Brock said, hitting harder. _Thwack. Thwack._ He and Jack circled each other in the gym. His mind was half on Darcy.

 

A week later, there was a minor incident. Tony Stark had---to everyone’s surprise--agreed to help Jane with a new device. It was meant to resemble a lighter in size but would help lead you between realms if you got lost. Except they had a challenging time working together. The challenge ended in a verbal spat and then an explosion. Everyone heard about how the SHIELD medical team had to give Tony Stark several stitches and saved his eyebrows.

Brock went upstairs to see if Darcy wanted to have lunch with him. He was going to ask her out, he’d decided. Formally. The right way. So, there’d be no confusion. He was steps from the reinforced glass wall of Jane’s lab when he saw Darcy click a tiny square and there was a flash of light. Brock panicked.

When he burst into the lab, a blinking Darcy was coughing on the floor. “Smoke!” she said to him.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled.

“Testing the thingy,” she said. “It’s Jane’s thingy.” He knelt next to her and helped her up slowly, holding her waist.

“I know that,” Brock fumed. “Where’s Jane? Why are you touching it?”

“It’s my job!” Darcy said. “Jane went to a meeting and I wanted to see if her debugging worked.”

“That damn thing blew up Tony Stark yesterday,” Brock said. He paced the lab. Darcy stared at him.

“That was last week. You weren’t this mad at Tony when he did the same thing!” she said. “You thought it was funny at lunch!”

“Yeah, well, he’s stupid – what’s your excuse?” Brock bit out.

“Who pissed in your cornflakes?” Darcy said, stunned. She’d never heard him use that tone.

“I just cannot believe you would do--do something so reckless, all alone, all right?” Brock said. “Fuck.”

“Well, I’m fine,” Darcy said. “Obviously.”

“Promise me you won’t do that again,” he said firmly. Brock put his hands on her shoulders. “None of that, you understand?” he said.

“Fine,” Darcy grumbled. Just what the heck was his deal, she wondered. They made eye contact and Darcy felt herself lean towards him fractionally, just on reflex. Those eyes again, she thought.

_Bang!_

 

Darcy jumped. Jane had come into the lab, she realized. “Darcy Elizabeth Lewis,” Jane said. “Did something explode in here?”

“Yes,” Brock said.

“Traitor!” Darcy hissed. “You make things explode all the time,” she told Jane. “He already gave me a lecture.”

“Good,” Jane said.

 


	23. how'd you meet?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OTP PROMPT--this one's just one I liked!
> 
> “You’re famous and I jokingly left a comment on your social media post asking if you’ll go egg my ex-partner’s house with me this weekend, and I never actually expected you to respond, let alone show up Friday night with dark sweatshirts, toilet paper rolls, and three egg cartons tucked under your arm” AU
> 
> https://writing-and-nutmeg.tumblr.com/post/185093208162/otp-prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

“So,” the new SHIELD agent at the party asked. “How’d you two meet anyway?”

“Social media,” Darcy said.

“We egged a house together,” Brock said at the same time.

“What?” the guy said, looking puzzled.

“Well,” Darcy said. “I had just broken up with a guy--”

“British, total asshole,” Brock supplied.

“And I wanted revenge. He cheated. Usually, Jane would do that kind of stuff with me,” Darcy said, “but she was at a conference and I was by myself, having thrown him out when I caught him in bed with another woman. My bed.”

“Okay,” the agent said.

“So, I called Nat, but she was hanging out in Russia and Steve, Sam, and Bucky were on a road trip for bros, and I decided to get drunk and stalk cute agents on Instagram instead, like you do,” she said. Brock nodded.

“This is where I come in,” he said, grinning. He leaned down and kissed the top of her head.

“So, I’m looking--” Darcy said.

“Drooling,” Brock said.

“---at all his videos of himself, like beating up Albanian fighters and whatev,” Darcy said. “Three glasses of rosé later, I leave this comment about getting him to egg the place where Ian’s staying this weekend, because he’s the most badass triple agent in SHIELD’s entire history,” she said.

“Eh,” Brock said, shrugging. “Some people say I am. I just try to help.”

“That’s false modesty by the way. He has the highest mission success rate of anybody but Cap, his Crossbones fake identity was flawless, he’s totally cool under pressure even when it’s something really maddening, like trying to get good concert seats on freaking Ticketmaster,” Darcy said.

“I’m a chill guy,” Brock said.

“I hate that website. So,” Darcy, “I drunk-comment on his Insta and then I forget about it, because I’m leaving voicemails for Jane and singing to Destiny’s Child and I don’t have eggs, anyway. Then about thirty minutes later--”

“I’d seen her around, been thinking about making a move, so I got her address from Klein,” Brock added.

“My doorbell rings, I open it--” Darcy said.

“Which you totally shouldn’t have done, especially not in your cute panties,” Brock said, grinning slyly. “Bad security move.”

“Hush, I was in breakup spiral. So, he’s standing there, all black clothes, egg cartons under one arm, stack of toilet paper, and the biggest shit-eating grin on his face,” Darcy said. “He looks at me and he goes, _hey, sweetheart, where’s this place we’re egging tonight?’_ I, of course, am just standing there, astounded.”

“I told her to put pants and shoes on,” Brock said.

“I put on clothes and we get in a car, drive over there, and actually do it--not sex--the egging and toilet paper,” Darcy said.

“That was later,” Brock said. “The sex.”

“I was very impressed by his aim, it looked like that place had been plastered with eggs and paper,” Darcy said. Brock grinned and nuzzled her nose.

“Yeah, you were,” he said, smirking. “She throws like a kitten trapped in a paper bag, it’s very cute, so no paint would have been harmed had she tried that alone.”

“What I lack in ability, I make up for in spirit and swearing,” Darcy said.

“She does,” Brock said. “I was a SEAL and she swears more creatively than my first commanding officer.”

“Okay,” the SHIELD agent said slowly.

“That was it, right? You commented, I showed up, we TP’d your ex’s place and then we went back to my place?” he said.

“I didn’t leave for, like, a week,” Darcy said.

“And about six weeks later, we find out we’re having our first kid,” Brock said.

“Is that right?” the agent said.

“Yup,” Darcy said.

 

“Are they for real?” the agent asked Maria Hill, once they’d moved away. “He runs STRIKE Alpha and she--”

“Is the assistant to Jane Foster? Yeah,” Hill said.

“You’re kidding,” he said.

“I never joke,” Hill said.


	24. Leggo My Eggo II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Same 'verse as ch. 21's 'Darcy and Brock Meet After She's Decided To Be A Single Mom' story.

Darcy really didn’t expect Brock to be able to hack her being pregnant with someone else’s baby. But he impressed her and even Jane: he went to her doctor’s appointments, bought pregnancy guides, and was generally doting. Even got a little emotional after the first ultrasound. “The baby’s so  _ small,” _ he said, when she asked why he’d gone quiet. 

“It’s scary, right?” Darcy said.

“I expected the baby to be bigger. Anything could happen when you’re that small,” he said, swallowing. “Anything. How do I protect you both?” He looked at her with a concerned expression. 

“Um,” Darcy said, “I think that’s why the baby stays inside for the next six months?”

“Well, yeah,” he said, then looked at her. “Don’t tease me, I’m having a dad moment, okay?”

“Okay,” Darcy said, delighted. She was generally delighted by him every single day. It was wonderful to have someone to talk to about baby stuff, to be able to snuggle next to him when she was queasy or had indigestion. She’d expected to deal with that all on her own. Been prepared for that. She wasn’t prepared at all for the way it made her fall in love with him to see him getting excited about her pregnancy.

They just hadn’t mentioned it wasn’t his baby at work. She thought it was cute the way Brock never corrected anyone’s assumption and tacked up her sonogram proudly in his STRIKE office, next to his shooting range score. 

 

It hadn’t occurred to Darcy that people would treat it as a subject of gossip until she was taking a breather in the Section 4 ladies room. Darcy was on her way to pick up a piece of equipment for Jane when she got a whiff of microwaved spaghetti by accident. “Oh, no,” she said, feeling the urge to upchuck descend instantly. She ducked into the nearest bathroom, claimed a stall, and dry-heaved a little. Once the feeling had passed, she sat down on the toilet and tried to pep talk herself into going back out again. “You’re cool, you’re cool, you smell nothing,” she said out loud. “You’re just gonna pee like this is a regular trip, wash your hands, and then nope the hell out of here before you smell anything,” she reassured herself. It was embarrassing having to puke over the littlest things. 

Two women entered the bathroom as she was peeing.  “I can’t believe Brock Rumlow is having a baby with somebody,” the first woman said. That was when Darcy’s hand froze on the toilet paper roll.

“Oh, man, I heard the wildest thing. It’s not even his baby. Jenna saw Darcy Lewis at a fertility specialist--she and her husband are doing IVF--months ago and back then, she said she was having a baby by herself, using a donor,” the second woman said. “Jenna thought it was really cool that she just decided she wanted a baby and was going to do it. That’s what Linda told me weeks and weeks ago, they weren’t even together, I don’t think?”

Darcy’s heart did a little skip. She’d forgotten running into nice Jenna and her husband. She stood up, flushed, and stepped out of the stall. The women’s jaws dropped when they saw her. “Morning sickness is all day and nobody told me that at the fertility clinic,” Darcy said. They had the decency to look embarrassed.  

“I’m sorry, like so sorry,” the second woman said. “I didn’t mean--”

“It’s fine,” Darcy said. “Really, Jenna’s right. Having a baby alone  _ is  _ cool. And it’s also badass that Brock has totally embraced that, but he’s a very special guy,” she said smoothly, as she washed her hands. She glanced at the women significantly. “Plenty of other men would bail, you know?”  

 

Jane swore when she told her about it, as they unboxed the new equipment. “Don’t try to go fight them, my plan to make them have doubt about their own partners is long-term psych-ops. Brock taught me. It probably hasn’t even really set in yet,” Darcy said, giggling. “That one woman is going to be looking at her partner tonight, thinking  _ would they leave if I was pregnant by somebody else?”  _ Jane snorted. 

“Okay, fine, subtle revenge for rudeness is adequate, but I still prefer slapping,” Jane said.

“Sure, Jane,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t Marcia meme me, I want to fight those bitches,” Jane said.

  
  


Darcy  found Brock chatting with another STRIKE agent near the salad bar at lunch. “They’re in Arlington?” Brock was asking, writing down a name. ”Hey, sweetheart, I’m getting a daycare rec from Agent Hernandez.”

“Thanks,” Darcy said to the other agent, “but I haven’t even had the baby yet!”

“You gotta look early, the good places might waitlist,” Brock said seriously. Darcy’s eyes connected with the other agent. He grinned. She started to giggle. “What?” Brock said.

“You’re cute,” she told him, kissing his bicep. He smiled, still making notes. “How many kids do you have?” Darcy asked Hernandez.

“Five,” Hernandez said.

“Whoa,” Darcy said.

“Don’t you think that’s a good, solid number?” Brock said. Darcy stared.

“Wife and I always joke we have plenty so we’ll be fine if one wanders off at Disney,” Hernandez said, grinning.

“I think I just want to try one first,” Darcy said. “Slow walk it a bit.” Hernandez nodded. Brock looked up. “You okay?” Darcy said.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. She went off to get a salad--lots of cheese didn’t count, right?--and returned to a pensive looking Brock.

“Okay, what’s bugging you?” she said.

“More kids,” he said, scratching his chin. 

“Okay,” Darcy said. “What about more kids?”  He leaned in, looking at her seriously. 

“If we have more, should we use my stuff or  _ his  _ stuff?” he said. “The Portuguese-Italian kid’s--?”

“Yeah, gotcha,” Darcy said. “Why would we use his stuff now, though?”

“Then the baby has a full sibling,” Brock said, as if it was obvious. 

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said.

“And there’s no difference between them, either,” he said. “I don’t want the first baby to feel excluded, sweetheart. Or different. It’s like that--that thing you watched the other night, the interview with the  _ Beretta  _ guy?”

“Robert Blake?” Darcy said. She tended to watch a lot of  _ 20/20 _ and specials about royal weddings.

“He talked about feeling bad ‘cause he knew he wasn’t his dad’s biological son,” Brock said.

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure that was because his father resented that his mother had an affair and he was an asshole dad who hit the kids,” Darcy said. “I expect more from you. And me, too.” Robert Blake’s mother had had a tragic love affair with her brother-in-law. It was very intense. She’d been fascinated by that interview.

“Yeah,” Brock said. He still looked like he was thinking. 

“Also, I hope our kid doesn’t become a child actor or be accused of shooting their scary con-artist spouse,” she mused. “Just in general, I don’t want their life to be all that dramatic. Even if Robert Blake is Italian and charismatic, too.” Brock looked at her sharply.

“You thought he was sympathetic!” Brock said. “I knew it. You have a type. I mean, c’mon. You totally have a thing for Italians--”

“Well, like, when he was on TV playing the detective, he was cute. Now he’s, what, eighty?” she said. “He’s a little old for me now.” Brock frowned. He leaned into whisper again.

“That’s what I’m really worried about,” he said. “What if my stuff is too old?” 

“Ohhhh,” Darcy said, realization dawning. “Well, I still have some of the other stuff left and some people order backups and keep it on ice until they’re ready for the next baby.”

“Should we order more of the other stuff?” he said.

“I dunno,” Darcy said.

“We gotta get that sorted. I don’t want to end up with leftover, weird stuff,” he said. “Some pasty musician who’s also selling his own plasma.”

“Did you look at the site profiles again?” Darcy said curiously. There were a lot of musician donors, as it turned out. Which made her oddly cheered when she’d been looking---her future kid could have a talent! A real one, not just sarcasm and quips.

“Maybe,” Brock said, shrugging. Darcy started to giggle.

“The green vials mean they have plenty of the stuff, red vials mean low amounts,” she explained. He got out his phone to look.

“Green,” he said, looking relieved.

“See?” Darcy said.

“But anybody could buy at any time,” he said. “What if there’s a rush on that kid’s stuff?”

 


	25. real boyfriend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for winchesterxgirl
> 
> “Can we keep the dramatic speeches for tomorrow? You know, when it’s not three in the morning?”  
> https://witterprompts.tumblr.com/post/185065009252/can-we-keep-the-dramatic-speeches-for-tomorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

“I’mma go over there, Jane,” Darcy said, slurring as she requested an Uber. “He can’t keep doing this to me. It’s not right. You know what I mean?” She waved her drink straw. “It ought to be a crime to hook up with somebody, have that much fun, but never want to see a movie with them. Or do anything with clothes.” The bar music was sort of loud, but not loud enough that a guy several feet away couldn’t overhear. He shoulder checked his buddy, nodded, and grinned.

“Uh-huh,” Jane said, nodding assiduously. “He never calls you just to do non-sex stuff. He might as well be on Asgard! I hate when men are all AWOL and their father calls you a goat and they never call, but their abs are so good it ruins you for regular guys who do call--” Jane said. Darcy nodded, punctuating each of Jane’s extended, anecdote-as-data points with a wave of her tiny straw.

“You are so right! You’re right about everything,” Darcy said.

“I know,” Jane said.

“Let’s go,” Darcy said. She slid off the barstool. Jane followed. The guy stepped into their path.

“Ladies,” he said, “can I buy you a drink?”

“Nope,” Darcy said.

“We’re good,” Jane said. When he kept talking and didn’t step out of their way, Darcy reached into her purse for her Iron Man keychain.

“Back off, my dude,” she said. “Or my pal Tony Stark will hurt you.”

“Sure,” he said skeptically, getting closer. He breathed scotch into Darcy’s face seconds before he dropped like a rock.

“Whoops, look who didn’t listen,” Darcy said. “You step off, too,” she said to his buddy, waving the mini taser threateningly. He put his hands up.

“Assholes,” Jane muttered. Their Uber was waiting outside.

 

Brock’s apartment was across DC. They got lost a few times, but they were finally able to give their driver the right directions. “You stay here, in case I need to storm out,” Darcy said, patting Jane’s shoulder drunkenly. “I’ll be back.” Darcy stumbled out of the car, then went inside after a few failed swipes--she had a building access card for their hook-ups--and got on the elevator. She was rapping on the door when he answered.

“Darcy?” he said, blinking drowsily. His hair was wild, pointing in all directions.

“You schmuckdoodle,” she said, poking his bare chest. She wobbled and the poke turned into a steadying touch. Then she patted his chest. “I don’t care how hot your body is!” she said.

“What are you talking about?” he said blankly.

“It’s--’s not right, leading a girl on with all your good muscles if you don’t want to see _The Secret Life of Pets_ with ‘em!” Darcy said. “I’m not just some booty call, all right? I’m cute. I’ve got brains and boobs. And I’m badass, too, I totally tased that date rapist back there.”

“Darcy,” Brock said slowly, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Did somebody hurt you?” His expression had gone dark and he was scanning her for injuries.

“Nope, nope, don’t go all Doberman, he just breathed scotch in my face, okay?” she said. Brock relaxed. “This is about you and your problems,” she said, poking at his bicep. His good bicep. She rubbed his _om_ tattoo. It was one of her favorites. She had trouble picking a favorite. His tattoos were so good.

“My problems?” he said, eyebrows going up.

“You don’t--you’re not treating me good,” she said, poking him again. “I’m girlfriend material. I deserve the good stuff, not just--just the good sex, okay? I deserve that. I’m the Gayle to Jane’s Oprah and I spent a year in England and it rained every single day and so, I deserve sunshine and good coffee and a real boyfriend.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Real boyfriends want to do stuff besides sex,” she said. “You know that right? Daylight stuff.”

“Okay,” he repeated. Darcy continued.

“That means movies and maybe, like, concerts when it’s not too hot, and definitely taking me to the airport when Jane has to go to conferences, because Thor is so bad with DC traffic and I’m afraid Fury’s gonna be mad about what happened to the company car--”

“I will take you to the airport,” he said. “Can we save the dramatic speeches for tomorrow? You know, when it’s not three in the morning? And you’re not standing in the hallway of my building?” Brock said.

“Okay, fine,” Darcy said. She turned to go.

“Where are you going?” he said, grabbing the back of her jacket. She wobbled and he caught her. “Whoa, whoa,” he said, wrapping his arms around her.

“Jane’s waiting in the Uber!” Darcy said, offended. “You are always so grabby. You just want all the handfuls, don’t you?” She looked down at the hand cupping her boob through her t-shirt. “Is that one your favorite? You always grab the left one,” she said. He sighed.

“Darcy,” he said. “Shhhhhhh.”

“Oh,” she said, standing up. “Now he’s embarrassed.” She pulled the edge of her shirt back down. It had ridden up when he caught her.

“You go inside with me, I’ll go get Jane,” he said, half-dragging her inside his apartment. “Okay? You stay inside.”

“All right,” she said. He left and she locked the door behind him and shuffled to his bed.

 

 

***

“Jane, can you call her?” Brock said. “I don’t have a phone.” Jane was leaning against the wall next to his door. Darcy had locked them out. He’d taken his key card, but forgotten his door keys. Jane started to laugh.

“You don’t have a phone!” she said. “Neither does Thor. What’s wrong with you? He says it’s his fingers, but yours look normal size,” Jane said, squinting woozily. “Is this a new thing they teach men to avoid us? Like, a reverse pickup?”

“A reverse pickup,” he muttered. “Christ.” Brock took the phone out of her hand and dialed.

 

He could hear the phone ringing inside his apartment. Darcy didn’t answer. He tried several times. “Shit,” he muttered. “She’s probably asleep.”

“Look under the mat,” Jane said, lids heavy. There was no mat. Brock dialed again.

“I, uh, need some help,” he said to the voice on the other end. “You still know how to break into my place, right?”

“She is gonna break up with you if you don’t start treating her better,” Jane said. “She deserves better.”

“I know, I know,” Brock said. “Sunshine and coffee and a good boyfriend.”

“Uh-huh,” Jane said. “I’m sleepy.”

“You can sleep on my couch, once Romanoff gets here and can get this damn door open,” Brock said.

“Okay,” Jane said. “Thank you.”

 

By the time Natasha got there, Jane was asleep on the floor. “Well, this is interesting,” Nat said.

“Darcy’s passed out inside,” he explained, then watched curiously as Nat opened the door. She’d broken in once when she thought he was really HYDRA, before he’d been revealed as a triple agent.

“There you go,” Nat said. She helped him bring Jane inside. They’d deposited her on the couch when Darcy came stumbling out.

“Where have you beeeeeeen?” she said.

“You locked me out,” he said.

“Oh,” Darcy said. She stumbled into his arms. “Sorry. I missed you.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. Nat grinned.

“You’re so pretty,” Darcy said. “Look at all your pretty muscles.” She wrapped her arms around his waist. “He’s my real boyfriend now,” she told Natasha.

“Very good, _milaya,”_ Nat said.

“Please don’t tell anybody at work about this,” Brock asked the Black Widow. She nodded.

“Hey!” Darcy said, frowning. “That’s not cool. We’re telling everybody you’re my real boyfriend. Steve and Clint and everybody,” she said.

“Okay, honey,” he said. She let him go and he walked Natasha to the door. “Thanks, Romanoff, I appreciate the help.”

“Of course,” Nat said. He locked the door behind her and turned. Darcy was playing with her phone.

“You ready to go to bed?” he said.

“Yeah,” she told him, putting it down. “Okay.”

 

When he woke up in the morning, she was snoring next to him. He leaned over and kissed her cheek, then slid his arm out from under her. “Mmmm,” she said. “Come back.”

“You want coffee?” he said.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “Coffee, then get back here.” Brock laughed. He padded out to the kitchen. Jane was sitting there, looking at her phone. She had a strange expression.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Me?” she said. “Yeah.” She looked hesitant. “Is Darcy awake?”

“I figured I’d bring her coffee first--” he began, before there was a tiny shriek from the bedroom. “Honey, you all right?” he called.

“I’m guessing she just realized she sent a drunk email about you being her boyfriend to all of SHIELD last night,” Jane said.

“Oh my God!” Darcy yelled.

“I’m not naked in it or anything, am I?” he said.

“No,” Jane said. “But she does call you pretty.”

“Where’s the lie?” he said, shrugging. It was one of his favorite Darcy-isms. He carried her coffee into the bedroom. “Are you hiding under the covers?” he asked. All he could see was a bit of her dark hair sticking out.

“Just leave me here until I die!” she wailed.

“I’d miss you,” he said.

“This is so embarrassing. Why is my life so embarrassing?” she said. He peeked at her under the covers. She looked up at him.

“I’m not embarrassed,” he said.

“Are you sure?” Darcy said. Her face was worried.

“I don’t really have the gene for that,” he said, shrugging.

“Lucky,” she muttered.

“Besides, why should I be embarrassed, I’m the pretty guy whose gorgeous girlfriend thinks he’s--what is this supposed to be? ‘Stupid hot’?” he asked, looking at his phone.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “I hit the o key instead of the p key.”

“Did you want to hit the o key again?” he asked, grinning. “I didn’t get to last night, you fell asleep on me.”

 


	26. Drink More Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #6974 for winchesterxgirl
> 
> “I take care of this sentient tree for a day, and it’s telling me I should drink more water.”  
> https://thependragonwritersguild.tumblr.com/post/185087546774/prompt-6974

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Same universe as Polara: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18701548/chapters/44353834

“How’s the first weekend baby-sitting for the girlfriend, mate?” Jack asked, when Brock called him from Darcy’s apartment.

“It’s going all right,” Brock said, peering over his shoulder into the living room. Rocket and Groot were watching a movie on a blanket on the floor. Darcy was on jury duty. He’d had no doubt she would be called as a juror. She’d seemed to be interested in all the legal drama, though she couldn’t discuss it. She just radiated a kind of urgent liveliness and told him that she couldn’t wait to tell him what case she was on. Brock hadn’t expected her to be sequestered, though. That worried him slightly. He didn’t want her mixed up in a murder case. She was exactly the kind of person some drug runner would fall in love with.

“Really?” Jack said. He’d called expecting chaos and disorder. He was a little disappointed. “The raccoon hasn’t bitten you yet?” he asked.

“No, I think they like me,” Brock said nervously. Just then, he felt a pull on his jeans and looked down. Groot was looking at him.

“Bleep bloop,” Groot said.

“What?” Brock said. Groot gestured to the fridge. Brock opened it. “Whaddya need, pal?” he asked. The tree scaled the shelves, grabbed two bottled waters, and hopped down again. Then it stopped and held one bottle up.

“Tah-tooo,” he said.

“For me?” Brock said.

“Bleep,” the tree said, nodding with its branches.

“Thank you,” Brock said. He watched as Groot bopped away to re-join Rocket in the living room.

“What was that?” Jack said wryly.

“I told you,” Brock said. “I think they like me.”

“Nah, nobody likes you,” Jack said.

“I take care of this sentient tree for a day, and it’s telling me I should drink more water,” Brock said, feeling slightly offended by Jack’s scorn. “Plenty of people like me.”

“Did they call you Dad yet?” Jack asked, chuckling.

“Shut up, asshole,” he told Jack, then slid the cell phone on his neck to muffle it. “Anybody want more popcorn?” he called.

“Are we breathin’?” Rocket said. “Everybody always wants more popcorn.”

“Tee-hee,” Groot said, nodding again. He stood up and carried the empty bowl into the kitchen.

“Okay, I’ll get you more popcorn,” Brock said. “I’m sure Darcy’ll be home soon.” He meant to comfort Groot.

“No, she won’t,” Rocket said.

“What?” Brock said.

“She’s a juror on that multiple homicide thing. I followed her to court the other day. The one in the Deanwood Metro station?” Rocket said. “Three guys, probably a gang.”

“Shit,” Brock said. ”I don’t like that.”

“Tee-lah,” Groot said, nodding sadly

“You want me to sneak her a gun into court? I got a prototype,” Rocket said. “All plastic.”

“Man,” Brock muttered. He could hear Jack’s voice dimly through the phone. “What the fuck do I do?” he said out loud.

“Just let me handle it. And put more butter on this popcorn,” Rocket called casually. “I ain’t on no diet, Mr. Fitness.”

  



	27. anything other than yes (cold feet vi)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! This is a more dramatic one, so trigger warnings for the Snap, angst, and people having slightly dubcon-ish sex to numb pain at the beginning of the story. In this AU, Crossbones never died, because he channeled his energies into a criminal empire, instead of revenge. But everything else is pretty canon-compliant. Part VI of a multi-chapter (previous chs. 11-14; 18) thing that....just grew like a vine on me. All chapters are marked "cold feet" in parenthesis.

“Yes,” she told him, getting up to join him in the kitchen. “Yes to everything,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his body and tucking her cheek against his chest.

“You’re sure?” he said. “You don’t have any doubts?”

“Nope,” she said.

“I’m still Crossbones,” he said quietly. “I’ll never work like somebody else, not exactly. I’m not good like you are---I don’t have that in me, that natural goodness.” He swallowed. “I’ve always been the guy who saw things to exploit, weaknesses to go after.”

“Hey,” she said, “Look at me, Brock Rumlow.”

“Yeah?” Brock said.

“You work harder than anybody I know when you’re invested in protecting something. You have more determination than anyone else I know. You’re like Jane that way,” she told him.

“I’m like Jane?” he said, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah,” she said. “Both of you are fighters. I don’t think that’s a coincidence,” she said, pulling him towards the couch gently. “Sit with me?” she said, guiding him. She curled herself against him as she talked. “I think the only reason I can be as good as I am is because Jane protected me and then you protected me,” she said, rubbing his arm.

“I protected you?” he said.

“You’re still protecting me. From the world,” Darcy said, touching him. ”You keep saying I’m good, but the only reason I’m like this”--she shook her head at his doubtful expression---“the only reason I get to be happy and kind and soft is that I was shielded, first by Jane, and then by you, from all these things that can make you cold and hard and ruthless, if you have to start cutting away at the soft parts of yourself to survive. You ever think about that? I do. A lot. I wouldn’t actually have made it without both of you. Jane gave me a job where I wasn’t exploited or underpaid or told I was stupid and useless, and every time I expressed doubt about my purpose, she told me I just hadn’t found my _thing_ quite yet, you know?” Darcy said, blinking. “Jane could be abrasive, yeah, but she got that way because she didn’t have what she gave to me, not when she was trying to make it in science _._ She helped me stay soft---and you, you rescued me when I lost my place. Because both of you got tough to survive, you valued my softness and helped me keep it. You especially. You could have used me and abandoned me and instead, you brought me back. Yes--yes, you did,” she said, catching his skepticism. “Do you know how many abandoned people there are? How often people slip through the cracks? More than ever. All those people just fading away into nothing or self-medicating themselves to death. I was so close to that, Brock. Don’t forget how far gone I was,” she whispered to him.

“Honey, you weren’t--” he began, but she put a hand over his mouth.

“I think Arizona should count,” she told him. “It should _always_ count, because back then, you were the only person who remembered that I used to laugh. I didn’t.”

 

“You really want to marry me?” he said. They were curled up in bed together that night. He felt the need to ask again.

“Yes,” she said.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“Can you say anything other than yes?” he asked.

“I love you,” Darcy said. “And I want to get married. Soon.”

“Nothing you want to change?” Brock said.

“Hmmm,” Darcy said.  She must’ve felt him tense and rubbed him comfortingly. “It’s nothing big. I just think this house is all wrong for you.”

“What?” he said.

“It’s too open and exposed, I think you’d be happier in a different environment,” she said.

“Huh,” he said. “How different?”

“Different,” she said. “Maybe we can go look at something?”

“Sure,” he said.

They went looking at houses the week after she brought it up. At first, he was alarmed by how little she wanted to spend, compared to his own budget ideas. “This is one I really like,” Darcy told him, as they followed the real estate agent down the street. “That’s the front of the house,” she said, pointing to a vine-covered wall with a wooden door.

“You can’t see anything,” he said.

“That’s the idea,” she told him. “It’s got a multiple car garage in the back, but you have to take the road that runs behind the houses.”

“Oh,” he said.

“It was built in the twenties,” she explained. “Original tile and ironwork, stuff like that.”

 

They went with the real estate agent through the back. “It’s like no one can see you,” he said, when he’d checked the front door. The sightline went directly to the front gate they’d seen, but the front of the house was totally sheltered. He turned back to look at her.

“Yup,” Darcy said. “I love this place,” she said. She was running her fingers over the wrought iron bannister.

“If this is what you want,” he said. A house felt celebratory, he thought.

“What do you want?” she said.

“I don’t know, I usually buy what the real estate agents tell me will resale the best,” he said.

“They must love you,” the agent said. “Have you seen the kitchen yet?”

“Oooh, I want to see that, the green tiles look so good online,” she said. She reached for his hand and he took it. She was smiling at the tile when he looked around.

“How long have you been married?” the agent asked.

“About twenty four hours,” she said.

“We eloped,” he said. They’d talked about a big wedding, but the prospect of one without both their mothers and Jane was still painful.

“It was a quickie courthouse wedding,” Darcy joked, looking in the cabinets. “I wanted to get married in sandals.”

“A house is an excellent wedding present,” the agent said.

  


Darcy was reading STEM grant applications one night when Brock came home. “Hey,” she said, looking up. She had a pen tucked behind one ear, her glasses on, and was surrounded by paperwork on the couch.

“How are you feeling?” he asked carefully. The official Supreme Court ruling had come in the day before, declaring all the Snap victims legally dead, so that the courts wouldn’t be bogged down with requests and families didn’t have to wait the traditional seven years. He sat down next to her and pressed his thumbs into her shoulders. He was worried that she might struggle with this, that it might bring up old wounds, upset her.

“This is actually great,” she told him. “This kid invented a really cheap water purifier, she’s on my shortlist, along with those.” She gestured towards a stack of applications in a chair nearby.

“Good,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “You want a drink?”

“I’d love one,” she said, underlining something. “You see the news about the life insurance companies trying to delay payments today?”  she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “They’re assholes who don’t want to pay out on all the policies. Stocks are cratering all over the place.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “How much did you buy?” Her voice was teasing.

“Who says I bought stock?” he said, wincing slightly behind her back.

“I know you,” she said dryly. “You see opportunity everywhere.”

“I might have bought some,” he admitted. He was purely a legitimate businessman now, but sometimes, he wondered if bank robbery had been his most honest career.

“I’ll be redistributing that future wealth to a twelve year old girl who made this water purifier, and a seventeen year old from Chicago who wants to be a geneticist and go to Stanford,” Darcy said. “It’s not like we need more money, anyway.”

“I gave you too much power when I married you without a prenup, didn’t I?” he said, sighing with mock-grievance as he sat down with wine.

“Haha, fooled you, now you can’t be a criminal or own totally unnecessary houses,” she said, turning a page. “You have to settle for me and this place. How will you live with a lumpy, near-sighted wife and a house worth _only_ two million dollars, you poor sad man?” Darcy said in a voice laced with sarcasm. She’d talked him into downsizing their lifestyle. Extensively. He’d sold the big modernist house, most of his cars, and all the properties connected with crime and used the money for various causes. Which wasn’t a bad thing. He felt calm and stable, living in one place. And he’d made sure the house she wanted had excellent security. She wasn’t wrong about an older house feeling better, either. Going home was like being somewhere hidden and safe.  

“Very happily,” he said, leaning over to kiss her neck.

“Mmmmm,” Darcy said, wiggling with pleasure. He continued kissing her.

“I just want one boat,” he whispered. “Just one?”

“I think I gave your boat money to a bunch of aspiring female engineers,” Darcy said. “And the raises.”

“The cost of living raises,” he repeated, grinning against her neck. She wanted to make sure his security company employees could afford to live. They could afford to live; he wasn’t stupid enough to underpay people who he also gave guns to, but he’d agreed to it because he thought her principles were sound. He had maybe two or three principles of his own, so he depended on hers for reinforcement.

“We could get a smallish boat,” Darcy mused. “But you’d want to dock it at a marina where they cleaned it for you. Everyone I’ve ever met who had a boat ended up hating boat maintenance.”

“You got an application in there for curing the scourge of boat maintenance?” he said wryly. Darcy rolled her eyes.

“You pretend to be a cynic, but who cried at that Coding for Change event?” she said archly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I had something in my eye,” he said.

“And they say I’m the family wiseass,” she said. He started kissing her neck more intently, sliding his hands across her belly. She was pretending to read, but he felt her shiver of delight.

“I just have one question,” he said.

“Mmm, yeah?” she said, making a soft sound.

“How much is a boat in sexual favors, sweetheart?” Brock said. “Because I can start now.”

 

***

Jane woke up. She was on the floor of a grocery store? “Darcy?” she said out loud. All around her, people were stumbling, yelling, there was general chaos. What was happening? All she could remember was looking at Darcy in their lab as she’d started to fade. She walked towards the store exit, feeling for her phone. Gone. She’d last left it on her lab counter. “Damn,” she muttered. That was when she caught sight of the calendar pinned to the wall near the exit. “What the fuck?” she said. Had she been aethered, Jane wondered, and lost a huge chunk of time. Years?  On the street, people were streaming around, talking and crying. She realized they were standing at the location of her old lab in California. Her lab was a Trader Joe’s? “Can I borrow your phone?” she asked someone. That was when she realized she didn’t have Darcy’s number memorized. They’d just switched phone plans before….whatever the hell that was. “Shit,” Jane muttered. She called her mother. Her mother was ecstatic. “Has it really been this many years?” Jane said, feeling numb and strange. She felt as if she’d just woken from a nap.

“Yes, honey,” her mother said. “I can’t believe you’re alive. I--I really thought you were gone forever. I love you.”

“I love you, mom,” Jane said. Her mother broke down crying.

“Oh, God, it’s been so long,” her mother sobbed. They stayed on the phone until Jane had to give the phone to another person, so they could call their family.   

 

She was standing in a coffee shop trying to decide what to do next when someone said her name. “Aren’t you Jane Foster?” the woman next to her said. “Thor’s girlfriend? With the foundation for girls in STEM?”

“The foundation?” Jane said. The woman showed her something on her phone. A website for a foundation--named after her--in Los Angeles. Under the “About Us” section, she saw Darcy’s name under the Board of Directors. “She’s alive!” Jane said joyfully, hugging the stranger next to her. Then, Jane dialed the number with shaking hands.

“The Jane Foster foundation,” a cheerful voice said.

“This is Jane Foster,” Jane said. “I’m looking for Darcy?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The house looks like this, which feels very Darcy to me: https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/3247-Bennett-Dr-Los-Angeles-CA-90068/50920316_zpid/


	28. petsitting (cold feet vii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! This is a more dramatic one, so trigger warnings for the Snap, angst, and people having slightly dubcon-ish sex to numb pain at the beginning of the story. In this AU, Crossbones never died, because he channeled his energies into a criminal empire, instead of revenge. But everything else is pretty canon-compliant. Part VII of a multi-chapter (previous chs. 11-14; 18, 27) thing that....just grew like a vine on me. All chapters are marked "cold feet" in parenthesis.

Within hours, someone had picked Jane up. “Where are we going?” Jane asked the driver.

“Los Angeles,” he said. “It’ll be heavy traffic. Darcy’s on the phone.” He handed her a phone.

“Jane?” Darcy said. Jane could tell she’d been crying. “Are you okay?” Darcy asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Jane said, starting to cry in the back of the sedan. “It feels like I just saw you thirty minutes ago, really.”

“Good,” Darcy said. “I’m so sorry that I’m not there with you, but we were out of town--”

“We?” Jane said.

“Oh God, this is so complicated to explain over the phone. I’m married,” Darcy said. “Just take a deep breath--”

“You married Ian, didn’t you? Oh God, Darcy, no, he’s all wrong for you!” Jane said. The driver started to laugh.

“Her husband ain’t nobody named Ian,” he said.

“No, calm down,” Darcy said in a bossy tone. “It’s not Ian. Why would you think that?”

“As long as it isn’t Thor, I’m okay,” Jane said, relieved.

“No, but I can see if someone can get him in Norway--if he’s in Norway--so he can get to you sooner with Stormbreaker?” Darcy offered.

“Did he get married?” Jane whispered. “Who is Stormbreaker?”

“No,” Darcy said. “That’s just his new axe. But I think it would be good for him to see you, he’s had a bad time. And we’ve got to pick up my mom and find Brock’s mom--” Darcy said, before she spoke to someone else on the other end of the call.  “Oh, you got her? Yes! We have moms, Jane,” Darcy said. Suddenly, Jane realized she was crying a little. “Have you talked to your mom yet?” Darcy said, sounding teary,

“Yes,” Jane said.

“Okay, good, we have moms, here’s our plan,” Darcy repeated, seeming to reel in her emotions with a deep breath, “Bob”--that was Jane’s driver--”will take you to the house, we’re meeting the moms, everyone will end up in LA in less than twelve hours,” Darcy began, before someone said something to her. “Yeah,” Darcy said. “It might be slightly longer if they suspend flights or delay them, Brock just reminded me. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jane repeated. “Twelve to twenty-four hours.”

“She’ll be fine, boss!” Bob yelled.

“Bob says I’ll be fine,” Jane said. “Are you his boss?”

“Sorta. Half?” Darcy said.

“Yes,” Bob said, nodding. “She is 100% the boss.”

 

After they hung up, Jane looked at the traffic all around them. “Brock,” she said. “I know that name, why do I know that name?” she asked.

“Well, uh,” Bob said, “it’s complicated.”

“Why does everybody keep saying that?” Jane wondered.

“Mr. Rumlow isn’t a criminal now,” Bob said. “His businesses are all legit. He has a pardon. You know, you can get them at the state-level too, so you’re legally in the clear all-around? State and federal?” Jane’s mouth fell open and she stared ahead.

“Brock Rumlow is married to Darcy?” Jane said. “She’s married to _Crossbones?”_

“Yup,” Bob said.

“What does he do now?” Jane wondered out loud.

“He does security for rich people,” Bob said.

“The bank robber does security,” Jane said, incredulous. “And Darcy runs a foundation in my name?”

“They have a really sweet science camp for little girls,” Bob explained. “I helped out with that last year. All girls from schools in lower income communities. And they donate, like, equipment and give out scholarships.”

“Oh my God,” Jane said, sitting back in the seat. She needed time to absorb all of this. What the hell had happened in five years?

 

Bob drove her to Darcy’s house and let her in. “I think there’s food and everything,” he explained, giving her the passcodes to the security system. “Just don’t let the cat out, he’s mostly indoor, she worries about him being hit by a car.” Jane nodded. That sounded like Darcy.

She wandered around after Bob left, looking at everything: the colorful green tiles in the kitchen, the worn-in couch, the grey cat sleeping in a sunspot on the floor. Everything looked like Darcy. It was slightly cluttered and the furniture was comfortable and nothing was beige. In the living room, she found an album with a handful of wedding photos outside Pasadena City Hall. Jane had to sit down and catch her breath. Darcy had married _Brock Rumlow._ A still-scarred, very scary-looking Rumlow. He was beaming at her in all the photographs. Presumably, he lived here, too. There were men’s boots by the door and sunglasses on the coffee table. It was real, not some elaborate and strange cosmic prank. The cat strolled by, swishing its tail. That was Crossbones’s cat, Jane thought, dazed. Just how changed was Darcy? Had she been brainwashed? Jane looked at her surroundings with suspicious eyes. She got up and started searching through the house, beginning with the medicine cabinet. Wasn’t that where people kept their secrets? But Darcy’s cabinet contained only band-aids, ibuprofen, and cinnamon toothpaste.

 

Still, Jane checked all the rooms for HYDRA paraphernalia, anxiously aware that she might only have a day to plan if Darcy needed rescuing. There was nothing visible, no sign of strange cultish behavior, not even any dodgy books. She looked under the beds and saw only dust bunnies and evidence of Darcy’s tendency to forget to sweep under things, as usual. The bedside table had a book on Krav Maga, a brochure for boat sales, a guide to Rome, a tablet, and a tiny speaker that she probably used for music, Jane thought. The closet was full of what were obviously Darcy’s clothes,plus a lot of gym t-shirts, men’s  jeans, and a row of dark, neat-looking suits. She was circling anxiously in the kitchen when she saw her own face. Darcy had a photo display with multiple photos of them and her mom on the adjoining wall. “I’m here,” Jane said out loud. “I’m here, too.”

Somehow, that made her feel emotional. She had to sit down again. After she was done crying, she pulled herself together. She needed more information, more data, to make sure Darcy was okay. What could she look at? Jane remembered the tablet in the bedroom. She was nosily thumbing through the tablet when she found the videos of them together. Jane pressed play with a deep breath. She was confronted by the less-burned side of Brock Rumlow’s face as he narrated a video filmed on his phone. “So, we’re in Rome and now we’re going to dinner--honey, what’s the name of the place again?” he asked. Jane heard Darcy scoff.

“He totally knows the name of the place, he just enjoys watching me struggle to pronounce _Salumeria Roscioli,”_ she was saying, as the camera refocused on her. Jane was intensely relieved to find that she looked exactly the same: dark glasses, a scarf wrapped around her neck, expression bright.  

“Roscioli,” he repeated teasingly.

“Stop being all superior in your Italian-ness,” Darcy said, making a face that Jane knew meant she actually thought he was cute.  

“You think you find a thing that a woman likes about you,” he said to the camera. “And then they tell you to stop doing it.” His faded, pale scars twisted as he grinned.

“Shut up, I love you,” Darcy said, squeezing his waist and almost tripping as they walked. He caught her. Jane realized she’d never heard Darcy tell a guy she loved him before. Certainly not Ian or anyone she dated afterwards.

“That’s my wife,” he said to the screen, wrapping an arm around Darcy.

“Wait, what’s me, the tripping?” Darcy said.

“I was thinking the whole _shut up I love you_ , but the falls work, too,” he said, laughing.

“Not fair!” Darcy said. “How do you say shut up in Italian?”

 _“Ti amo,”_ he said.

“Phhhffft, an obvious trick,” she said.

  


The video ended. Jane looked up. Across the room, the cat blinked at her. “What do you know?” Jane asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> California-adjacent readers! Pasadena City Hall is a stunning-looking wedding location:
> 
>  


	29. Secret Smartass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for winchesterxgirl
> 
> A: I like your scarf.  
> B: I’ve killed over thirty people with this scarf.  
> A: It brings out your eyes.  
> B: Do you mean my murderous tendencies?  
> A: IT BRINGS OUT YOUR EYES!
> 
> https://dasues-writing-prompts.tumblr.com/post/185275732598/a-i-like-your-scarf-b-ive-killed-over-thirty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

“It’s a no on this women’s health conference?” Darcy called across the lab to Jane. She had a form email for denying Jane’s invites.

“Absolutely not, the last time we agreed to those, they slotted me next to that colonics lady. You know how I feel about junk science. Especially junk science exploiting body image issues,” Jane said sharply.

“Yes, ma’am,” Darcy said, mock-saluting. “I shall now venture out for coffee,” she added, glancing over to their new security guy. Rumlow. Mr. Serious Face. “You coming too?” Darcy asked.

“Yeah,” he said, standing up. Rumlow was one of those ex-triple agents who’d been in the HYDRA thingy. Badly burned, Jane had told Darcy. Fury had told everybody he’d escaped his hospital and was a deranged mercenary so he could steal back SHIELD’s missing doohickeys extralegally for a bit. Now he’d been patched up by Helen Cho and was stuck with them until all his vitals came back correctly or whatever. Darcy thought Rumlow was itching to get out of their quiet lab, based on his sighs-to-work-hours ratio.

“Me, too,” Jane said, “I could use the walk. I’m stuck on this problem.”

“Okey dokey,” Darcy said. “The more, the merrier.” Rumlow sighed. Darcy caught Jane’s eye and tried not to giggle.

 

They were in line at the coffee shop and Darcy had her earbuds in when he looked at her. “I like your scarf,” he said suddenly. His expression was all strange. Darcy wished Jane was closer, but she was busy staring at a bag of Sumatra and clearly thinking about science. Darcy wanted Jane to hear this. Was he trying to make conversation? He never made conversation! He grimaced, he scowled, he said eh, but he wasn’t chatty.

“I’ve killed over thirty people with this scarf,” she deadpanned. Rumlow blinked at her.

“It brings out your eyes,” he told her, without any indication of distress. Jane looked up quizzically. “Black coffee,” he told the barista. “What kind of coffee do you want?” he asked Darcy. His casual response flummoxed her.

“Do you mean my murderous tendencies?” Darcy said. “Shouldn’t you be concerned about that?”

“Not particularly,” he said, shrugging.

“No?” Darcy said. “Two large mochas, please.” She glanced at him dubiously as they stood side by side in front of the register. He raised an eyebrow and grinned slowly.

“It brings out your eyes,” he repeated, giving her an obvious once over, “for a murder scarf.” Behind him, Jane had clapped a hand over her mouth and was trying desperately to suppress her giggles.

“Are--are you a secret smartass?” Darcy said, astounded. She’d never seen him try to be funny.

“Ask Cap,” he said dryly.


	30. ghost hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Writing Prompt #863, just for me
> 
> “You want to spend our three day weekend hunting ghosts?”  
> “Well, yeah, I don’t have the time for a full investigation during a two-day weekend.”
> 
> https://promptsforthestrugglingauthor.tumblr.com/post/185226870386/writing-prompt-863
> 
> Clint and Darcy shenanigans + Taserbones. A tiny sequel to this story, "The One With All The Hitchcock References": https://archiveofourown.org/works/17964854/chapters/42431267

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

“You want me to do what with you and Clint?” Jane said aloud. She stared at Darcy. “No, no, absolutely not.”

“I thought you could be there to provide commentary on the science of ghosts. I’m carrying the camera,” Darcy said.

“Do you not remember the last time you and Clint were convinced your neighbor was a murderer and you got shot?” Jane said.

“But I’m fine now!” Darcy said. “Clint wants to celebrate his being able to walk again with a ghost hunt. Besides, this place is technically a SHIELD training facility since the sale closed,” Darcy explained. “Clint’s allowed to be there.”

“But you’re not,” Jane pointed out. “You want to spend our three day weekend hunting ghosts? In an abandoned hospital?”

“Well, yeah, I don’t have the time for a full investigation during a two-day weekend,” Darcy said. “Clint and I have everything packed: sleeping bags, snacks, flashlights...You could bring a doohickey!” she told Jane.

“My science equipment is not getting involved in this,” Jane said. She shook her head.

“You really don’t want to go?” Darcy said.

“Nuh-uh,” Jane said. “I still need a tetanus booster and that place looks creepy from the outside. I can’t imagine how bad the inside is. Lead paint, gross water, bugs, rats. Rats, Darcy!”

“Boring!” Darcy said. “Why don’t you want to have adventures with me and Clint?”

“Because you are a bad idea factory,” Jane said.

“We are not,” Darcy said stubbornly. “Nobody else realized that guy was a HYDRA mole, either. We caught him.”

“Sure,” Jane said, rolling her eyes. “But why don’t you call Rumlow?” she asked Darcy. ”See if he wants to go?”

 

“I think we missed our window,” Darcy said. She sighed. She and Rumlow had a good time during her and Clint’s surveillance operation and he’d brought her gelato in the hospital, but Darcy hadn’t reconnected with the STRIKE Commander. He’d been traveling for missions when she was allowed to go home; they’d made plans for another date, but then he’d had to cancel because of work. She’d missed a later call because she was at a conference with Jane. Somehow, the promised raincheck had not been cashed.

“Oh,” Jane said. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Darcy said. “You’re sure you don’t want to ghost hunt?”

“Absolutely not,” Jane repeated. “I will not be guilted into a horror movie scenario because Rumlow and you haven’t hooked up.”

“Fine,” Darcy said. She stuck her tongue out. “Phfffft!”

 

***

“Wow,” Darcy said, when she and Clint got out of his truck at the abandoned hospital. It was near-dusk. “This place is much creepier up close. Don’t tell Jane I said that.”

“Nope,” Clint said. “Also, don’t tell Laura I did this, she thinks I’m doing a beer brewery tour with you.”

“Beer brewery,” Darcy said, nodding. She knew about Laura and the kids, even if most of SHIELD didn’t know Clint had a whole family in Iowa.

“Now, you gotta be careful of staircases,” Clint said. “If they’re wobbly, get down.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “Totally.” She turned on her flashlight.

“Ready?” Clint said.

“Yup,” Darcy said.

 

The inside of the hospital was eerie. “Okay, hella creepy!” Darcy said, peering through her camera as they wandered around. “Another thing we don’t tell Jane,” she said.

“It’s just a little peeling paint and leaks,” Clint said, eyeing the walls. “Jane is paranoid about germs. My high school was like this. We had a leak during Spanish class.” Darcy started to giggle.

“Maybe that’s our hook?” They’d been batting around ideas for a podcast or a video show. “Hola, ghosts! Welcome to the Spooktacular Show with Hawkeye!” she said cheerfully.

“We’re not calling it that,” Clint said. “It should be Haunted History with Hawkeye and That Girl Who Falls Down,” he said. Darcy gasped.

“A heartless insult!” she said. “How dare you, sir, how dare!”

“Just wait until you go all _Blair Witch_ in here,” Clint said.

“Wooooohoooo, I’m scared,” Darcy said sarcastically. She could talk more bravely than she felt. Her flashlight cast shadows on the wall. It was a little ominous. She wouldn’t want to be here without Clint.

“Let’s go this way,” Clint said. The hospital complex was huge and full of hallways.

“Can we light some of our LED candles?” Darcy began. Clint snorted. “Jane insisted we be fire safe, but this place needs some atmosphere for our test video.”

 

They were laughing and joking with spooky music apps when Darcy froze. “Do you hear that?” she said to Clint. He was surrounded by LED candles.

“Shhh,” Clint said. He adjusted one of his high-tech SHIELD hearing aids--Darcy hadn’t even realized he’d worn them until they’d both been in the hospital-- and tilted his head sideways. She was perfectly quiet. _Thump. Clunk._ Two distinct noises. Darcy looked at Clint. He nodded. “Heard that.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered. He got a collapsible bow out of his bag calmly.

“Stay back,” he told her. His expression was serious. Darcy withdrew her taser and crept behind him as Clint made for the doorway. Suddenly, Darcy was aware that the noises were closer and heavier. They sounded almost real. _Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._ He’d poised the bow and slid his arm back when Darcy heard Clint say one word. “Shit.”

“Barton?” a male voice said. With a sinking heart, Darcy realized she knew that voice.

 

“Darcy Elizabeth Lewis,” Brock Rumlow told her with a sigh. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. He was very upset that he’d caught her running around the hospital, Darcy realized. They were standing in the room with all her LED tea lights.

“Brock Lee Rumlow,” Darcy joked, hoping to lighten the mood. She didn’t know his middle name. How did he know her middle name?

“Brock Lee?” Clint said.

“My middle name isn’t Lee,” Brock said.

“Brock Lee like broccoli?” Clint teased.

“My middle name is Calgero,” he said. “Not a produce reference.”

“Calgero?” Darcy said. She looked at Clint.

“It’s a good Sicilian name,” Brock grumbled.

“Calgero,” Clint said, rolling the name around.

“It’s traditional,” Brock said defensively. “That’s Chazz Palminteri’s real name, too.”

“Who?” Clint said.

“Oh, neat. You know him, he’s been in everything,” Darcy said to Clint. “Like, what’s that movie with the mobsters, what was it--?”

 _“The Godfather?”_ Clint said.

“No, he was too young for that one, um, what’s another one?” she asked.

 _“Goodfellas?”_ Clint offered.

“Is he in _Goodfellas?”_ Darcy asked Brock.

“That guy from the mob movies who is in _Lethal Weapon?”_ Clint added.

“No, that’s Joe Pesci,” Darcy said. “He’s in some episodes of _Modern Family!”_

“Oh,” Clint said. “I thought that was the _Married With Children_ guy?”

“He plays a friend of that guy, who is married to that woman with the voice like Betty Boop. What’s her name, um….Jennifer Tilly!”

“What?” Clint said.

“Darcy,” Brock said. “Can you gather up your, uh, things?”

“Those are tea lights,” Darcy supplied.

“LED. Not a fire hazard,” Clint said.

“So, you had one good thought for the night?” Brock said.

“Oh, we were going to spend the whole weekend here,” Darcy said.

“Christ,” Brock said. “What the hell were you thin--you know what, never mind, forget I said anything.” He sighed.

  
He made them leave. STRIKE Alpha and Bravo were running an exercise in the building. “We can’t be hostages?” Darcy offered. “I’d make a good hostage!”

“No,” Brock said, grinning briefly.

“Did you just ask Rumlow to tie you up?” Clint teased. The Bravo guys in earshot laughed.

“No,” Brock said, more sharply. Darcy realized he was glaring at the Bravo agents. He must really be disinterested, she thought. She’d embarrassed him. They walked out to Clint’s truck.

“Sorry,” she said to Brock.

“Just don’t get in any trouble. You just got out of the hospital not that long ago,” he said to her. Then he put her LED bag in the back of the truck.

 

“Maybe we should stick to our true crime podcast idea, stay away from the supernatural?” Clint offered, as she climbed in and shut the door.

“Yeah,” Darcy said, looking back at Brock as they pulled away. He half looked over his shoulder at her.

“I can’t believe you asked Calgero to let you play hostage,” Clint said, chuckling. “And he said no. What’s that about?”

“I have no idea. I thought he was into me and then, phffft, it just fizzled out,” Darcy said.

“Sometimes things fizzle out,” Clint said. “That’s why you gotta marry ‘em before they get tired of you.”

“Is that what you did with Laura?” Darcy said.

“You want him, you drag ‘im to the altar, Darce,” Clint said.

“Very funny,” Darcy said. “What if we do the beer brewery thing?”

“Good plan,” Clint said.

“Where would you want to host a podcast? We could start recording them together and modify for Iowa?” she suggested.

  


They were hooking up audio equipment in Darcy’s apartment when someone knocked. “I’ll get it,” Clint said. “Who knows who it could be?”

“Sure,” Darcy said wryly. She was under her kitchen table, plugging cords into a power strip. “I’m sure it’s another HYDRA murderer.”

 

It was Natasha. She looked at Darcy under the table. “Did you try to stage a ghost hunt during a STRIKE exercise?” Nat asked.

“No,” Clint said.

“Yes,” Darcy said.

“You are children,” she told them. Clint shrugged. Darcy scrunched her nose.

“Just because I have sock monkey pjs that doesn’t make me childish,” Darcy said.

“We’re childlike,” Clint said.

“It keeps us young!” Darcy added.

“Why have you let Rumlow slip through your fingers?” Nat said to her.

“I think he’s lost interest,” Darcy said, peering up at her.

“You cannot expect him to fall into your lap,” Nat said. “That only happens when you are exceptionally lucky, like Clint.”

“Phfft,” Darcy said.

“You gotta wrangle him, Itty Bitty,” Clint said. "I am lucky, though." He grinned widely.

“Well, how am I supposed to do that? I’m not putting on a ridiculous dress again!” Darcy said.

“He liked that,” Clint said. He looked at Nat. “His eyes went all big like a dog seeing treats,” he told the Russian.

“Does this not answer your question?” Nat said.

“No,” Darcy said, feeling irrationally stubborn. “He has my number, he knows where I live, and he’s seen me in a hospital gown. If he was interested, he would call.” Nat and Clint sighed in unison.

"Milaya, will you at least crawl out from under there--" Nat began.

"Nope," Darcy said. She plugged in another cord.

She was totally fine. Absolutely fine, Darcy thought. If he wasn’t interested, she could totally recover. It didn’t matter that he was all handsome and brought her gelato and good at helping dig up clues at night, right? It wasn't like she was hung up on him, she thought. And anyway, she had an entire murder podcast to do, she couldn't keep thinking about a guy. That would be stupid.


	31. Brownies and Video Tapes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Prompts for winchesterxgirl:  
> Prompt #1  
> Person A: I just want brownies.  
> Person B: Guess what I made last night?  
> Person A: If you say brownies and did not bring any I am breaking up with you.
> 
> https://hi-im-awkward-whats-your-name.tumblr.com/post/185273050514/conversation-prompt-59
> 
> Prompt #2  
> Person A: “I can’t believe I’ve done this…”  
> Person B: “I couldn’t either. But video tapes don’t lie.”
> 
> https://maigoth-prompts.tumblr.com/post/185278566082/prompt-213-i-cant-believe-ive-done-this-i

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know nothing! Same 'verse as chapter 30 and my story, "The One With All The Hitchcock References"--https://archiveofourown.org/works/17964854/chapters/42431267

“Ugh,” Darcy said. “I just want brownies!” They were in hour five of their murder podcast recording. There had been technical glitches. And a long digression by Clint about different types of bows and arrows that was totally irrelevant to the disappearance they were discussing.

“Guess what I made last night?” Clint said, grinning.

“If you say brownies and did not bring any I am breaking up with you,” Darcy said.

“I’m married to Laura!” Clint told her, eyebrows raised. “You realize this is not dating, right? Is this why you and Rumlow are having trouble getting together? Because you’re confused about what constitutes dating?”

“I meant a friend breakup, hello,” Darcy said. “Where are the brownies?”

“My apartment, I’ll go get ‘em, you sort out that--whatever that is,” Clint said. Whenever she played back some of their recording, she got a garbled sound, like printers, if printers had awkward sex, like in that _Oatmeal_ cartoon she and Jane loved.

“Okay,” Darcy said. She frowned at their equipment.

“I’ll be back!” Clint called. His DC apartment was in the same SHIELD-owned complex as hers.  

 

Once he’d left, Darcy pressed the button again. _Grrrrunch-uhn-grunnch._ “Oh, man, sex printer again?!” Darcy said, sighing. She thought she’d fixed the problem. She tried several things, but all she could hear was that sound. It was annoying. And she was grumpy and out-of-sorts. “Do I just have sex on the brain?” she wondered aloud. Ever since Nat had stopped by, she wondered if she should do something about Rumlow. When Clint came back with the brownies, she looked at him. “Should I do something about Rumlow?” she asked, biting into her first one. It was dark and had pecans and an unusually rich flavor--

“Oh, yeah,” Clint said.

“Like wha--what is in these brownies?” she said.

“They’re my Uncle Pat’s recipe. Bourbon pecan brownies,” he said proudly.

“How--how much bourbon?” Darcy asked.

“A lot,” Clint said. “Way more bourbon that pecans, actually.”

“Okay,” she said slowly. “But what about Rumlow?”

“You should call him,” Clint said.

“I want him to call me,” Darcy said. “He did the flowers thing, I thought he was going to be all traditional and woo-ing.”

“Wooing?” Clint said.

“Yes! Like old-fashioned? He would call me, pick me up, be all gentleman-like,” she said. Clint snorted.

“Ain’t nobody on STRIKE from a romance novel, Darce,” Clint said.

“Shut up,” Darcy told him.

“Did you think he was going to ride up on a horse like Fabio?” Clint said, laughing and miming shaking long hair. Darcy rolled her eyes.

“No,” she said.

“No?” he repeated.

“Maybe a little,” she said. “He did so good with the gelato!”

“You gotta give him some encouragement,” Clint advised.

“I want answers first,” Darcy said. “Give me another one of those.”

 

***

Brock glanced down at his phone and sighed. He wanted to call Darcy. But was he overstepping? He’d been swamped at work lately. They’d never managed to follow up on that blind date and he hadn’t wanted to be too pushy after she was shot, either. What if she didn’t really like him? He was old enough to practically be her father, after all. And he’d brought her flowers, which practically radiated _Grandpa Goes On a Goddamn Date._ The only thing more dopey was a corsage, it dawned on him later. He rubbed his jaw. It was a Sunday night at eight o’clock, anyway, it might read as a dick move to call tonight. He’d call her on Monday during daylight hours. Show seriousness of intent. He sighed again. It was easier when women chased after him, then he didn’t feel like he was being a fucking creep. But she was difficult to read, since she always seemed to be doing something odd and unusual. Ghost hunts with Clint. Weird science excursions with Jane that seemed to involve portals, explosions, or Thor taking selfies with dogs. He’d even checked her file, just to trying to puzzle out what she might be interested in. He was uncertain.    

 

Brock was updating exercise reports on his work laptop when there was a noise outside his apartment. He’d drawn his gun before he realized the crashing sound was accompanied by drunk-sounding voices and music. Probably someone celebrating the weekend a little too well, he thought. He got up and glanced through his blinds carefully, anyway, standing where he was out of view through the blinds. When he saw the figures on the sidewalk near the parking spaces, his jaw dropped. He pulled the blinds and then slid the window up. “Darcy?” he yelled.

 

“Hey!” she said, listing slightly sideways. “I hacked a database!”

“Like a pro,” Clint added. He was holding up a phone.

“Are you drunk?” he said.

“It was the brownies!” Clint yelled. “She ain’t got my grandma’s brownie tolerance!”

“Cause I needed to talk to you!” Darcy yelled. “We took Uber!”

“Okay, why don’t you come upstairs--” Brock began.

“No! I just got something to say!” she yelled. “No inside.” She wagged her finger and shook her head.

“I’m recording this for posteriority!” Clint said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Darcy said. “Get me that song, okay?”

“Song?” Brock said, as he watched Clint fiddle with the phone. Suddenly Boyz II Men was blaring on the sidewalk.

“This is our song, man,” Clint said. “Woooo-hoooo!”

 _“I’ll Make Love To You_ is your song?” Brock said, raking a hand through his hair and reminding himself that he couldn’t actually beat up Barton, even if he and Darcy might have a...whatever. What the fuck?

“He means with Laura, not me!” Darcy yelled. “That’s not the right song. I wanted _Hey, Eugene.”_

“Who?” Brock said, relieved.

“This is what I did, man!” Clint yelled. “She was at her sister’s and I showed up and played this song and asked her to marry me. We’re really happy!” He nudged Darcy. “You go,” he said. “Ask him!”

“Will you---” Darcy began.

“You want to get married?” Brock said, befuddled.

“Oh my God,” Darcy said. “We can’t get married! I’m just here to ask you on a date!”

“Really?” he said, delighted.

“Yes,” she said. “Who proposes after one date?” She waved her arms and lost her balance a little. “That is ridiculous!” She started to laugh.

“Whoops, we got falling,” Clint said, catching Darcy’s shirt.

“Do you just propose to anybody?” she yelled.

“I’m coming downstairs,” Brock yelled. “Stay there and don’t hit your head!”

 

He carried a giggling Darcy upstairs. “You wanna get married?” she said. “To meeeeeee?” She looked at him with wide eyes. Brock was trying to carry her while keeping an eye on a stumbling Clint, trailing behind them.

“Well, I don’t wanna marry anybody else,” he said, afraid to respond the wrong way.

“I told you, that’s the song,” Clint said.

“That’s silly,” Darcy said. “You can make people marry you with Boyz II Men!” She started to laugh again. “He thinks I need to wrangle you!”

“Wrangle me?” Brock said, looking back at Clint skeptically.

“Before you find out I’m crazyyyyyy,” Darcy said.

“Too late,” Clint muttered, snorting.

“You’re not crazy, you’re just, uh, unique?” Brock offered.

“You got it bad, man,” Clint said.

  
***

There was sunlight right in her eyes, Darcy realized, as she stirred awake and grabbed her glasses off the nightstand. Why were her blinds--this wasn’t her room? “Oh, shit,” she said. “Shit.” She got up and stumbled out of the strange bedroom, almost tripping on a blanket and pillow on the floor.

“Hey,” Brock said. He was standing in the kitchen.

“Hello?” Darcy said. “Is this your apartment?”

“Uh-huh,” he said. Clint was snoring on the couch. “Do you remember what happened last night?” Brock asked.

“Noooooo,” Darcy said.

“I’ll get you coffee,” he said, grinning. Darcy sat at the kitchen island. He turned back as the machine was brewing. “Clint recorded it all on his phone,” he said. “But you’ll want this first.”

“Okay,” she said. She sipped her coffee and then finally reached for the phone.

“You sure you want to see that?” he asked. She looked at him in alarm.

“Is it that bad?” she asked.

“Eh.” He shrugged. “I thought it was kind of cute,” he said.

 

“Oh God,” Darcy said, when the video ended. “Oh my God.” She hid her face behind her hands. “I can’t believe I did this,” she whispered.

“Neither can I, but video doesn’t lie,” Brock said. He was grinning.

“This is so embarrassing,” Darcy said. “Do you just think I’m a total freak or something?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you wanted to set a date?” he teased. She put her face down on the counter with a groan.

“Kill me nooooooow,” she said.

“Nope, we’re going on a date even if we don’t get married, you agreed when I tucked you in,” he said.  That made Darcy realize something.

“You slept on the floor!” she said. “That’s so sweet. And so dumb,” she said. “You could have slept in the bed with me.”

“Yeah, I’m paying for it with a backache today,” he said, scrunching his nose. “I was trying to be, uh, respectful.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “After I was drunk on Clint’s booze brownies?”

“Look at that, Itty Bitty,” Clint said drowsily from the couch, “he is a Fabio man.”

“What?” Brock said.

“Shut up,” Darcy said.

“My granny can handle her brownies better than you,” Clint muttered, rolling over.

 


	32. Can't Help Falling In Love (K&R 'verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #7220 for winchesterxgirl
> 
> “I’ve never fired stars out of a gun before.”
> 
> https://thependragonwritersguild.tumblr.com/post/185326060969/prompt-7220

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

The bell jangled as Darcy went into the diner. Sliding onto a barstool, she smiled at the woman behind the counter. “I’m waiting for somebody,” she explained. “You haven’t seen a dark-haired guy in a Chevy Impala around, have you?”

“No, honey,” the woman said. “Can I get you something while you wait?”

“Do you have floats? I’d love a Cherry Coke Float,” she replied, smiling.

“We can do that,” the woman said.

“Thanks,” Darcy said, passing a bill across the counter. She’d left her credit cards behind. While she waited for him, she checked her reflection in napkin holder on the counter. Her bob was slightly rumpled. “I’m just going to the ladies,” she told the waitress, heading for the bathroom. She scrutinized her reflection more critically in the clarity of the bathroom mirror. Her hair was the way Rumlow liked it, but it could be smoother. He liked that, when her hair was all swingy. Pulling a brush out of her purse, she stroked it through her hair until it was smooth and glossy. As she was putting the brush back when she remembered the Fracas in her bag, too. His favorite.

 

The float was waiting on the counter when she got back, smelling of white flowers. A perfect Coke float. The cherry on top was bright and shiny. Lipstick red.

She waited and waited. Craned her neck to peer out into the parking lot as it got dark. Had he forgotten her? Restless, she went over to the jukebox and perused the songs. Finally, she settled on one. A favorite. She fed some coins into the machine and watched as it rattled to life. “You find a song you like?” a voice said behind her.

“Yeah,” she said, sighing with happiness. He wrapped his arms around her waist.

“That was some kiss, the last time we were together,” he said. She’d kissed him with Dottie Underwood’s sedation lipstick. Cherry red. “I woke up in a cell,” he said, grip tightening. “Missin’ you.”

“I missed you, too,” she told him, still looking at the jukebox. They cast shadows over the glass. Two figures entwined above the glow. “I always miss you,” she said. The jukebox switched to “Love Me Tender.”

“Stop running away from me, then,” he said, lips brushing against her hair, close to her ear. “Run away with me.”

“Steve’ll follow us,” she said. “And how can you trust me?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said.

 

They closed down the diner. He was kissing her in the parking lot when he squinted up at the street lamp. “Too much goddamn light,” he said. “I want privacy.” He pulled out a gun and aimed. When he shot out the light, it glowed golden for a second, then left them in the dark.

“Oh my God,” Darcy said, leaning against the Impala. “That was so pretty. One golden moment.”

“You wanna shoot one?” he said, offering her the gun.

“Yeah,” she said. She laughed when the second streetlight went out. Up in the sky, there was a brief flicker. They could see the stars now.

“Shooting star,” Brock said.

“I’ve never fired stars out of a gun before,” Darcy said, standing on her toes to kiss him. He cupped the back of her head and deepened the kiss. That was all he wanted, to kiss her again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alert readers will catch the K&R universe references: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1052984. 
> 
> Did this really happen? Is Rumlow dreaming in his jail cell? Who knows? You decide for yourself.


	33. Carnival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #7223 for winchesterxgirl
> 
> “Insanity is the best carnival ride.”  
> https://thependragonwritersguild.tumblr.com/post/185328633009/prompt-7223

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

“The Amazing Jane!” Darcy called. “That’s who you could be for the carnival!” She was digging through her costumes. Jane was in the living room working on a theorem. Darcy left the bedroom to talk to her.

“Huh?” she said, looking up from her calculations.

“You could be the Amazing Jane and do magical portals,” Darcy said. “Or Thor could lift you as part of his strongman act.”  They were planning a retro fall carnival. It was a Steve and Bucky thing. A Stucky plan.

“I blame you for this, you gave Bucky that copy of _The Night Circus,”_ Jane grumbled. She resented being pulled away from work to go with Thor and Stucky to buy various kinds of equipment. Steve had somehow charmed half of SHIELD into getting into the carnival mood and volunteering to buy tickets or run tents and booths. They were fundraising for a DC school lunch charity, a clean water group in Flint, and a global warming advocacy group. Half the STRIKE teams were fighting over who got to run the shooting game, Clint was going to be the dunk tank guy, and Natasha was going to escape a bunch of chains in a mermaid routine.

“I thought it was a fun book he could enjoy. Magical realism, no stabby stabby,” Darcy said. She loved that book. “Besides, _I’m_ excited to tell fortunes, Grumpy Cat Jane.”

“Let Loki be the Amazing Loki,” Jane said.

“Don’t you think that’s too much encouragement?” Darcy said. “He could make Fury disappear into a hat and then where would we be?”

“Probably in trouble,” Jane said.

“I need to buy a gazing ball. What about those lawn ball thingies?” Darcy said. “It would look pretty around the house afterwards.”

  


***

Darcy had been telling fortunes in her darkened tent for two hours when Jane brought her a coffee. She was taking a ten-minute break. “How’s my hair?” Darcy asked. She’d had it straightened. For some reason, long straight hair seemed more witchy than her usual curls. She wanted to do something special.

“Good,” Jane said. “I’ve got you cotton candy, some popcorn, and Thor won you one of Loki’s cruelty-free magical goldfish.”

“I got a goldfish?” Darcy said, clasping her hands in delight and wiggling. “Will he live? Can we call him Mr. Fishy?”

“I’ll ask,” Jane said. “I probably should ask. Thor has him. He’s red-gold.”

“I’m totally keeping this veil thing Nat made me and those twinkle lights. I want my bedroom to look like this,” Darcy said, gesturing to her tent decor.

“It’s very you,” Jane said. “How much did you spend on that crystal ball?” Darcy had ordered a rose quartz sphere. It was probably a dumb way to spend forty bucks, but she could stare at it for hours.

“Don’t ask. You like the fair, right?” Darcy said. Jane looked relaxed.

“It’s fun, okay, I admit it. We dunked Clint! You need to close up shop to see Natasha escape at least once,” Jane said. “She’s amazing.” Darcy nodded.

“Do I have a line outside?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Jane said.

“Just get me before the last show then,” Darcy said. “And have fun!” Jane left and the next person came into the tent. A shy, curly-haired guy from Technical Analysis. Darcy recognized him. He had a sweet smile. “Do you have a question?” she lilted breathily. She’d based her fortune teller persona mostly on old movies with Marlene Dietrich. Long pauses and droll reassurances in an accent that Nat had taught her. Everyone knew it was all in fun for charity, that was on the sign outside. And they all asked about love or money anyway.

“I, uh, wanted to ask a girl out,” he said.

“Yes,” Darcy drawled.

“Sharon Carter,” he said.

“I see,” Darcy said, having him shuffle the deck of tarot cards. She had a strong suspicion that Sharon and Maria Hill were dating, but she didn’t actually know. She’d just caught glances. Darcy read the cards as gently as possible. “You will find your path and your happiness,” she told him, “but it may be in a surprising place.”

“Really?” he said. “So, not Sharon?”

“Perhaps not. Be open to new opportunities,” she said. Then she winked. “Your obstacle card suggests stubbornness.”

“I will,” he said, looking slightly buoyed. He left with a smile. The next person came in and she had them shuffle the deck, too.

 

Two hours later, she was getting ready to pack up and had reached for her bag when someone entered the tent. “Hey, Morticia, you got time for one more?” a voice said. She straightened up and shot a dirty look at the man who was folding himself into the chair opposite hers. His smile was wry.

“Very funny, Rumlow,” Darcy said. “Shows what you know, Gomez and Morticia are _goals.”_ She flicked a little of her hair back and he tilted his head curiously.

“Yeah? What the hell does that mean, you want a haunted house and a couple of weird kids?” he said.

“Has it just never occurred to you that they have a great relationship? That was part of the premise of the first TV show--one of the ways they were weird for the sixties was that they were a married couple who were passionately in love. It’s satire of stuffy, uptight mainstream culture,” Darcy said, rolling her eyes. “They weren’t all repressed.”

“My mistake,” he said archly. She slid the cards across the table.

“Shuffle,” she ordered. He shuffled and she watched the dim light play across his face. Helen Cho had fixed up his burns a few weeks ago. When Darcy had first met him, it had been seriously explained that he wasn’t really HYDRA or a terrorist---he’d been a triple agent working to feed info to Fury and then stealing back stuff---and that she shouldn’t stare at his scarred face. He’d made it easy for her to treat him normally, though: he behaved like a complete wiseass. Teased her about her lack of coordination, asked snarky questions at the end of her and Jane’s presentations, and was openly scornful of her scarf collection. He’d seen her in a thick chenille  one day and started calling her Lenny Kravitz. When Jane yelled at him, he insisted it was normal STRIKE banter. Without even breaking a sweat. He was the only person Darcy had ever met who wasn’t scared of Jane in pissed off mode. But it had been a shock to see him healed. She hadn’t really thought about his original looks until he came strolling back into the office after a consult with Cho, with his, uh, new old face.

“What now?” he said, interrupting her musing on the smoothness of his skin, its perfect olive tone, and those astonishing cheekbones. He had stopped shuffling.

“Do you have a question for me?” she asked in her fake accent. He flinched and coughed.

“Do I have a question for you?” he choked out.

“That’s how this works,” she said in a more normal tone.

“So, I basically give you the tools to read me? That’s fucking bullshit,” he said. “It’s a trick.”

“This is a fun reading, stop being all Penn & Teller. Didn’t you see the sign outside? Entertainment purposes only,” she sassed back.

“All right,” he said, shifting forward to slide the shuffled deck closer to her. “But I’m not giving you a question. You have to cold read my cards, Morticia,” he said.

“Fine,” she said. “It’s a three card draw. Self, situation, and challenges.” She spread the deck. “Pick your first card.” He drew the King of Coins from her deck. She grinned.

“What?” he said.

“This is your self card. The King of Coins represents leadership, success, and discipline. A card for a practical person. Someone who earns respect,” she told him.

“Makes sense to me,” he said, eyes on the card’s imagery.

“Respect, but perhaps not love?” she said. He’d never been married, she knew. He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Just ‘cause I don’t wear a wedding band, Lewis, that don’t mean nobody loves me,” he said. “That it?” he asked.

“Draw your next card,” she said. He drew. “Ooooh, the Six of Wands representing your current situation,” Darcy said.

“Oooh, what?  I am going to die or something?” he said.

“No, this is an advice card. It calls on you to pursue your passions, make a change in your life without caring about what the rest of the world says,” Darcy said. “It’s a good card.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. He drew his third card and chuckled. “The Fool?” he said. “What’s that mean?”

“This is your obstacles card,” she said.

“So, the obstacle is that I’m an idiot?” he said.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “The Fool is the beginning of the deck, a really deep card--lots of people interpret the Fool as a truth-telling card, a clean slate. It’s all about committing to your life  and your future without carrying all your old anxieties and baggage,” Darcy said, leaning forward. “Open-mindedness.”

“Uh-huh,” he repeated, looking skeptical.

“So,” she said, actually in the spirit of the reading now. “These are really interesting cards. You’ve reached a point of success in your life, probably material success and leadership. You have the respect you want. But you want something else--maybe a new pursuit, a new passion--and your biggest obstacle to getting there is carrying your old issues into your new pursuit,” she told him. “Not being open-minded enough.” She patted the table. “There you go.”

“That means nothing,” he told her. “That could apply to anybody.” He scoffed.

“You are _so_ the King of Coins!” she said. “The point is that you take the cards and have a meaningful insight into your own life. It’s like a coin flip. It’s not heads or tails, it’s realizing which one you _want_ it to be when the coin is midair.”

“Sure,” he said. He shook his head. Then he looked at her. “What are yours?” he said.

“Mine?” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Do yours, then tell me what kind of insights you get.” She grinned. He was being stubborn. Totally a King of Coins with the Fool as his obstacle card.

“Okay,” she said, drawing her first card. “The lovers,” she said, when the first card with two entwined figures were flatly laid out on the table.

“They’re naked,” he said.

“This card is a good card, too,” she said.

“I bet it is,” he said, snorting. “What, your sex life is good?”

“No, it’s a balance card. All about harmony, love, and attraction. As a self card, it might mean I’ve got a major decision to make, maybe a dilemma about my future. I’m a person searching for a direction and sense of balance,” she said.

“Everybody’s searching for a direction,” he said.

“Are they?” Darcy said, drawing her next card. She realized he was looking at her intently. “Two of Swords. This means I’m torn between two possible decisions, uncertain of which will lead to a better outcome,” she explained. He nodded. She drew her third card. “This is a really good card,” she said. It was the Nine of Cups.

“You say that about all of them,” he muttered.

“This one is sort of my cups runneth over,” she said. She glanced up at him and caught the gleam in his eye. “No boob jokes!” she said.

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“This card is normally really good. Pleasure, happiness, having all your deepest wishes, all that. The person with the Nine of Cups has everything they want. But as an obstacle card it means that maybe I’m too focused on enjoyment in the present moment, not thinking long term or, uh--”

“Being practical?” he said.

“Yup,” she said, “so, in all likelihood, I’m searching for my higher purpose in life and will need to decide between two choices and not fall into the trap of doing whatever’s most pleasant now.”

“What else could this be?” he said.

“Sometimes, the Nine of Cups means engagement. But I’m really hoping that means my ex-fiancee is not going to be an obstacle,” Darcy said. She smiled.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not it,” he said.

“It’s not?” she said.

“I know exactly what it is,” he told her, smirking.

“Go,” Darcy said. He wanted to read her?

“You’re a happy person, a classic optimist, you got all this positivity, but you’re a little flaky,” he said.

“Me, flaky? How dare you!” she said, laughing. “What about my tent and my crystal ball would ever give you that idea?” she said. She didn’t mind: she tended to think of herself as happy-go-lucky. Maybe flaky. Did it matter as long as she paid her taxes and didn’t hurt anyone?

“You gotta make a choice, though, between staying in the shallows where there’s no risk or jumping into the deep end. That’s why your obstacle card is a warning about being too, uh, self-indulgent,” he said. “Because you’ve been risk adverse, chickened out.”

“Oh, I have?” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” he said. “This”--he tapped the cards gently--”is all about your relationships--are you going to keep dating boring safe guys like what’s his name or are you going to take a risk on something more fulfilling, but difficult?” Rumlow said.

“That’s actually not a bad reading of my cards,” she said to him. She grinned. “I’ll have to think on that.” She looked at the cards. “Did you want to go with me to see Natasha’s act?” she asked. That seemed to surprise him.

“Sure,” he said. She put the deck in her bag.

“I’ll come back for you,” she told the rose quartz. “You’re a little heavy for my bag.”

“Are you talking to the crystal ball?” he said quizzically.

“Yes,” Darcy said. He shook his head.

“You’re just doing that because I called you flaky,” he said. “Trying to scare me off.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’ll scare you off,” Darcy said, as they walked out.

“You don’t?” he said.

“You seem exactly like the kind of guy who’d look at a girl talking to her crystals and tell your buddies that _insanity is the best kind of carnival ride,”_ she teased.

“Now you’re just fucking with me,” Rumlow said. But he was grinning wryly, she realized, looking at him out of the corner of her eye. She’d hit her target. “Hey,” he said suddenly. She stopped, turned. He was smoldering at her. On impulse, she stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. She intended it to be playful, but his arms went around her to pull her close. Somewhere behind her, Darcy heard someone woo-hoo. Probably Clint. She was a little breathless when they broke apart. “We need to do more of that,” he said. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest.

“Yes, but I really want to see Natasha be a mermaid, I can’t just stand here kissing you all the time,” she said. “I need to learn to be less flaky.”

“Goddammit,” he muttered. He was leaning his chin against her forehead.

“Your own words coming back to haunt you, Commander.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a total novice, but whenever I do tarot scenes, I go and do an online three-card draw and then look up the meanings across a few websites as I'm writing, so it feels like a 'real' reading:  
> https://www.tarot.com/readings-reports/tarot-readings/free


	34. Make A Splash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Water Aerobics Shenanigans for Dixiedolittle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

“How was your first water aerobics class?” Jane asked, when a wet-haired, muttering Darcy walked into the apartment.

“Fine,” Darcy grumbled.

“Are you okay?” Jane said. “Thor’s having a nap. I thought we could order in.”

“I’m fine, everything is fine,” Darcy repeated robotically. “Delivery is fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Jane said.

“I think I need to quit water aerobics,” Darcy said.

“But you were so excited that it was a cheap class for SHIELD employees! You love mermaid stuff,” Jane said.

“The STRIKE teams have the next pool to swim laps at the same time,” Darcy whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” Jane said.

“Because I almost drowned in front of Rumlow. Twice!” Darcy said in a quiet hiss. Her eyes dashed towards Jane and Thor’s bedroom. She’d sworn Jane to secrecy about her crush on Rumlow. Darcy was too afraid that Thor would try to put them together and it would go horribly, terribly awry, just like her attempts at flutter kicks while not-drowning today.

“Ooooh,” Jane said. “Did he see?”

“Worse, I think he laughed,” she said, slumping down on the couch. “Why do I even have this stupid crush? He just calls me princess and tells me not to tase people whenever we’re in the same elevator or in the break room.”

“Because Helen Cho patched him up all pretty? And he’s the most famous SHIELD triple agent to survive HYDRA?” Jane suggested mildly. Darcy huffed out a sigh.

“Why does he have to be so pretty? He was wearing aviators today, too, and you know how that gets to me,” Darcy said.

“Well, Jack, too,” Jane added.

“Uh, whatever, I wish I had a crush on Jack. Jack’s much less scary, likes my baking, and would probably split cheese fries with me. I might have a chance with somebody like him,” Darcy said. She looked down at her crotch. “Ovaries! Cooperate!” Jane laughed.

“Rumlow didn’t snub your chocolate chip cookies, I saw his face. He wanted to eat them, he just doesn’t eat white sugar,” she told Darcy. Jane knew Darcy was oddly fixated on that perceived snub, but Jane had seen him circle the cookie tray longingly. Twice.

“My life sucks eggs,” Darcy said, sliding sideways. “Arghhhhhhhhh.”

“I think your crush on Rumlow really started to escalate into a debilitating situation when he talked to you that time without a shirt,” Jane said. “It was just a mild crush before.”

“I need a crush detox,” Darcy said.

“So go to class. Seeing him more often might desensitize you,” Jane said.

“Ughhhhhhh,” Darcy said.

“C’mon,” Jane said. “Nobody intimidates you!”

“Fine,” Darcy said.

  


The STRIKE team had already arrived when Darcy’s next water aerobics class ended. She was out of breath from aqua jogging and flopped towards the steps out of the pool with a sigh. She’d forgotten to buy a bathing cap again, so her hair was all wet from losing her balance and sliding underwater. She’d left her bag with her towel, flip flops, and street clothes along the wall and her suit had ridden up a smidge.  She was trying to slide her bathing suit back into its proper place inconspicuously as she climbed the steps when a voice called out to her. “Hey, princess!” Rumlow called from the side of the pool. He was fifteen feet or so to her left and walking towards her. Her towel was eight feet away, in a straight line. If she hurried, Darcy thought desperately, she could get to her towel before he got to her and he wouldn’t get a close-up view of her suit wedgie. She waved and then bolted up the ladder and towards her bag.

 

She was searching frantically for her towel when he jogged up. Too frantically, as it turned out. Jane always told her that she spilled things whenever she tried to hurry. But Darcy had only seen the edge of her beach towel in the depths of the bag and yanked. She didn’t mean to send her underwear flying. Right at Brock Rumlow. They practically hit him in the chin. “Hey,” he said, catching them. He looked down as Darcy made a horrified sound. “Panties?” he said. “They’re nice, but I don’t think they’d fit me, sweetheart.” He handed them back to her, grinning. “Lace’s cute, though.” She looked down at the underwear as if it was an unfamiliar math problem. She looked at him. He was smirking.

“Oh God,” Darcy said. Only the stupidest kind of panic could have prompted what she did next: she took the towel in her other hand and put it over her head.

“What are you doing?” Rumlow said as she pulled the towel up so it covered most of her face.

“This is my disguise,” Darcy said. She’d learned it from Thor.

“Oh, yeah?” he said, laughing.

“Darcy’s not here, she and her, um--”

“Panties?” he said.

“Stop saying that word!” Darcy hissed, blushing furiously.

“Don’t be so uptight, princess. Have a little fun,” he said.

“I have fun!” Darcy insisted, dropping her towel disguise.

“You wanna go on a fun date with me tonight?” Rumlow asked. Her mouth dropped open. He winked. “Once you’re not all wet,” he added. Darcy made a strangled sound. He laughed. “Nod if that’s a yes,” he said, reaching out to cup her shoulders and rubbing them. She nodded, swallowing. “And don’t forget to breathe,” he told her teasingly. She swatted at him.

“Cut it out,” she said.

“She speaks, look at that!” he said.

“Shut up, I’m getting dressed,” Darcy said. She was acutely conscious of him as she squeaked away in her wet flip flops to change in the locker room.

“No rush,” he called after her. “Wouldn’t want you to miss your underwear again!” Darcy glared back at him and he laughed.

“I’m going to make you like me and then I’m going to embarrass you in public!” she yelled back.

 


	35. hostage situation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #7317 for winchesterxgirl
> 
> “I’m the world’s best kidnapper. And today, I’m the hostage.”
> 
> https://thependragonwritersguild.tumblr.com/post/185394055669/prompt-7317

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

“Tell all your old friends where you are, Crossbones,” Darcy said in an arch voice. She’d put the phone camera close to his face. He was blindfolded and duct-taped to a chair in the lab.

“I’m being held captive,” Rumlow parroted with a sigh. 

“Brock! You’ve got to  _ sound  _ like you’re afraid,” she told him, pausing the video. “Or at least pissed off.”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “Very believable. I’m the world’s best kidnapper. And today, I’m the hostage? C’mon. You’re a five-two lab assistant,” he grumbled. “It’s unbelievable. I would overpower you in a second.”

“Excuse me! One, it’s five-two and  _ a half.  _ Secondly, my taser-wielding skills are feared throughout the Nine Realms,” Darcy said. “And your fake bruises look great on camera.” She’d used her favorite purple eyeshadows to sketch a fake bruise on his cheek and a bit of lipstain to make it look like he had a split lip from their alleged altercation.

“No one is going to believe this is how I got caught,” he said. 

“It’s perfect triple agent cover, shut up,” she told him. “Do you want to fake your own death in a pseudo-prison escape, get Helen to patch you up, and stay with me and Jane? Or go with Fury’s plan and end up God knows where?” Darcy said. “You know how much he likes complicated, weird plans. He’d probably have you fake your death and come back as Dr. Strange and I don’t like his facial hair situation.”

“Fine,” he said. 

“Look angry,” Darcy told him. He chuckled.

“If I put in a good performance, you gonna buy me dinner?” he said.

“Depends on the type of performance,” she said archly, flicking his arm.

“I felt that,” he said. 

“What about this?” she said, leaning in kiss his cheek.

“I’m duct-taped to this chair. You’re practically taking advantage of me, woman,” he said.

“Yup,” she said, leaning in again brush her mouth against his damaged ear. He sighed wistfully.

“This is unfair,” he said. 

“Tough,” she told him. She continued pressing kisses lightly down his neck. A second later, she heard the duct tape start to tear. “Are you flexing?” she asked, incredulous. The bicep beneath her fingers certainly looked flexed.

“Nah, I couldn’t tear duct tape just by flexing. I don’t think,” he said. “I could find out, though. But you’d be in a whole different video, sweetheart,” he said.


	36. A Kidnapping in Arlington?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue Prompt 34 for winchesterxgirl
> 
> “No, they didn’t kidnap me and they’re not holding me against my will. They’re very friendly actually.”
> 
> https://imaginecreateshare.tumblr.com/post/185313842974/dialogue-prompt-34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

Darcy was trying to concentrate on her cobra pose in the middle of the busy yoga studio when there was a disruption outside. Raised voices. Several students and the teacher looked up. “Sir,” someone was saying, “sir, this is a yoga studio, you can’t--”

“The fuck I can’t lady,” a male voice said. Darcy’s heart sank. “I’m a federal agent!” he said loudly. She knew what was coming a second before it happened: Brock Rumlow came barrelling through the door, hand on his gun, and almost fell over a woman with a hella expensive Manduka mat. “Shit,” he said, “it is a yoga studio.” The receptionist crossed her arms and glared at him. Darcy had to look away so she wouldn’t totally lose it. She was semi-hidden by a taller student who’d sat up to stare.  “I’m sorry,” he told the receptionist, letting his hand away drop away from his waist holster. “Sorry,” he said to the woman on the mat.

“Ow,” the woman on the mat said. “You’re standing on my hair, jerk.”

“Oh, that’s real enlightened of you,” he shot back. “I’m just looking for my girlfriend.”

“Sir!” the receptionist said. Darcy sighed and decided to stop hiding. There was no way she could leave without them knowing she’d brought the crazy into class.

“Brock,” she said, leaning around the other student, “you are interrupting my class.”

“There you are!” he said. “I’m here to rescue you.”

“From yoga?” Darcy said, getting up slowly and walking over.

“Can you take this outside?” the teacher said. Darcy nodded and led Brock out to the lobby. The receptionist followed

“I thought you’d been kidnapped,” he said. “You didn’t answer your phone and this isn’t part of your usual routine.” He was frowning and looked stressed. They’d all been a little stressed lately: Jane had been doing new experiments and several things had gone boom. It was one of the reasons that Darcy had decided to sneak off for an unusual yoga break.

“My phone is in the locker,” Darcy said.

“We don’t allow phones,” the receptionist said. She was looking at Brock like he was insane.

“So, no, they didn’t kidnap me and they’re not holding me against my will. They’re very friendly actually. Or they were,” Darcy said. She looked apologetically at the receptionist. “I’m very sorry, he’s paranoid. He sees too much negativity at work.”

“I’m not paranoid,” he said. “You’ve been almost kidnapped twice.”

“I need to get my stuff,” she said, squeezing his arm gently. “Don’t freak out, cutie.” She’d let go of his bicep when he caught her around the waist and kissed the side of her face.

“I won’t,” he said. “But don’t be long.”

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be, like, two seconds.” He waiting by the door, looking supremely out of place next to a little fountain, when she came back out with all her things.

“Lemme help you,” he said immediately, taking her bag and her mat.

“Thanks,” Darcy  said. She looked back at the receptionist. “Sorry, again.”

“I really am,” he said to the woman. He opened the door for Darcy. “Do you wanna get cheese fries so I can make it up to you?”

There was a squeak behind them. Darcy knew not to look back. “C’mon,” she said. She had to clap her hand over her mouth to muffle the giggles.

“What?” he said, when she totally lost it in the parking lot, leaning against his car and laughing until she practically cried. Her body shook. He was looking at her with a quizzical expression.

“That--that was a vegan-friendly yoga studio. Probaby can’t ever show my face here again,” Darcy said. “Between you stepping on people and exposing my love of bacon and cheese, I’m totally never getting invited back for their Happy Yogini discount.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Which means no bendy sex for you!” she said, so loudly that a passing woman stared at them. That only made Darcy laugh more. Brock huffed out a sigh.

“Fuck.”

“It’s not a big deal. Let’s get those cheese fries,” she said to him.

 

At the restaurant, Darcy was blowing bubbles in her Coke float  just to be silly. They were waiting on cheese fries. “You sure you don’t want to try this?” she offered. He was drinking water. Brock drank water like a camel. Darcy thought it was a little depressing. He shook his head. The motion reminded her of a wet dog.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he said. “I was sure something had happened to you.”

“Karmic Kundalini kidnappers?” she suggested, grinning. “It’s a major leap, babe.”

“I know. I’m sorry about your yoga class,” he said.

“That is not a big deal,” she told him. “Oh, look cheese fries!” The waitress set down the plate.

“She’ll want napkins and more ranch,” Brock said wryly. The waitress laughed.

“I’ll be right back with those,” she told them.

“Thank you,” Darcy said. She was beaming at her plate when she realized Brock was rubbing his jaw.

“I--I, uh,” he said. He sighed again. “I love you,” he said.

“Good,” she said, prying at a bacon and cheese covered french fry. “Have some of this, just once,” she told him. Brock tilted his head at her.

“You’re not gonna say it back?” he said.

“Oh, I’ve been in love with you since the first time I saw you with your shirt off,” Darcy said cheerfully. She stuffed a fry in her mouth.  He looked at her in surprise and then started to laugh.  



	37. Her name is Nugget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #160 for winchesterxgirl
> 
> “Wait, that’s insane! You actually have a chicken living with you?”  
> “Uh, yeah. That would be my roommate.”
> 
> https://keyboard-harpoon.tumblr.com/post/185326053211/prompt-160

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

Darcy was supposed to give their new security guy a tour of the apartment, she knew. But she was having a majorly annoying day of the PMS variety: she’d overslept and had to hurry Jane to work, been irritated and exhausted, and generally wanted to attack a tub of chocolate fudge ice cream without her pants, not give a tour to a near-stranger while Jane and Thor went to an event. She was sighing and making grump noises when Thor smiled at her. “The Commander of STRIKE Alpha is a worthy man to guard you when I am not present, Darcy. Do not worry,” he said.

“Thanks, Thor Bear,” she said. He’d cutely mistaken her raging chase of the bitchies for anxiety. She came over and gave him a squeeze, ruffling his hair. “I just hope this dude is nice,” she said, as Jane walked into the room in a suit.

“If he is not, I will station a warrior of Asgard in the lab,” Thor said confidently and Darcy hid her expression of alarm from him. She and Jane exchanged a look. The last warrior of Asgard had eaten all their snacks and pressed buttons. Jane did not approve of people touching her machinery. “What is wrong?” Thor said to Jane.

“Is my suit okay?” she said. 

“Yup, excellent,” Darcy said. She gave Jane a thumbs up behind Thor’s back for the A+ cover story.

 

This Rumlow guy showed up five minutes after Thor and Jane left. She met him at the gate to the outside street and parking. “What kind of complex is this?” he said, looking around at the courtyard as he followed her inside. “I’ve never seen anywhere like this in DC?” he added.

“Nope,” Darcy said. “Nothing like it.” They had a small community garden, overseen by Clint Barton when he was in town. His family visited sometimes. Thor was an enthusiastic weeder, too. The building was very quiet, tucked away on a sidestreet, and had its own inside greenspace. When they’d moved in, Darcy had been awestruck. It had felt like living in a movie set. She’d joked about living in  _ Melrose Place,  _ except with tomatoes instead of a pool. “It’s SHIELD agents and Mrs. Popov, she owns the building,” Darcy said. “Seven residences, plus the landlady’s apartment.” She pointed at each apartment. “Us. Clint Barton. Natasha Romanoff. Steve and Bucky. Sharon Carter’s there with Maria Hill. Sam. Last unit is Cameron Klein. So, we’re pretty secure,” she told him.

“No place is entirely secure,” he said seriously. They walked into Darcy and Jane and Thor’s unit. “Do you always leave the door open?” he asked, when she didn’t shut and lock it behind him.

“People pop in when I leave it open, grab a muffin or whatever. Open door policy,” she said. “Two-thirds of my neighbors are Avengers.”

“Still bad policy,” he said, mouth turning into a grimace. For some reason--probably PMS--that set Darcy off. She felt an urge to be irresponsible, just to vex him.

“What’s a few bad decisions between friends?” she said. “I’ll show you the bedrooms.” She didn’t shut the door. On purpose. She could practically see Rumlow itching in response. He looked like a guy with a security cam on his damn fridge. They surveyed the bedrooms, then headed back to the living room. Rumlow stopped abruptly. His head half-turned back to Darcy. 

“There is a chicken in your doorway,” Rumlow said to her.

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Yeah, no biggie.” The chicken was Clint’s chicken. She had the run of the courtyard during daylight hours. Bucky liked to feed her, Thor liked to play games with her involving tossing and catching, and Maria had a strange phobia because of  _ The Birds _ . Steve said it was the only time he’d ever seen her break a sweat.

“Excuse me?” Rumlow said. 

“That’s Nugget,” Darcy explained slowly. “She lives here.”

“A chicken named Nugget?” Rumlow said. She nodded. He gaped at her. “Wait, that’s insane! You actually have a chicken living with you?”

“Uh, yeah. That would be my roommate,” Darcy lied. “She’s an Asgardian chicken, very special.”

“She, uh, do anything?” he said, sounding nervous.

“Like what?” Darcy said, trying not to laugh.

“Like that murder cat of Fury’s? Damn thing’ll put your eye out,” he said. “It’s from space. Has tentacles.”

“Shut up,” Darcy said. She was really trying not to laugh now. Thor knew Goose. “I don’t believe you!” she said.

“Trust me,” he said grimly. “Sometimes, innocent-looking shit is dangerous.” Nugget, unfortunately, took that moment to make a weird squawking noise and toddle forward. She was kind of a noisy hen. It sounded like  _ bahhbahbahhawack!  _  In a flash that was truly impressive, Rumlow had drawn his gun.

“Are you waving a gun at a chicken?” Darcy said. “Put that away!”

“You’re sure it’s a safe chicken?” he said, keeping his eyes on Nugget. “It’s been screened for security?”

“Yes,” Darcy said, hands on her hips. Mr. Macho and his gun fetish were keeping her from the ice cream softening on the counter. “Put. Your. Gun. Down.”

“Don’t use that tone with me, I’m a professional--” Rumlow was saying, when Clint appeared in the doorway.

“Why are you holding a gun on my chicken?” Clint said. He reached down and picked up Nugget. “Poor baby, did he scare you? He’s a bad man!” Clint patted her and she clucked.

“She said it was her chicken,” Rumlow said, lowering his gun slightly.

“I lied,” Darcy said. “It’s Clint’s chicken.”

“Oh,” Rumlow said. “Why’d you lie?”

“Damn straight.” He glared at Rumlow. “What kind of animal are you?” Clint huffed, turning on his heel and disappearing. Darcy burst into peals of laughter.

“What?” Rumlow said.

“You’re soooooooo uptight!” Darcy said between laughs. “You freaked out over a chicken!”

“That’s not funny,” he said.

“Whatever, I’m having ice cream,” she said. She grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and picked up the condensation-damp carton.

“You’re just leaving the door open?” he said, staring at her. “So chickens and Barton can wander in?”

“Sure. Clint you want ice cream?” Darcy yelled.

“You got sprinkles?” he yelled back.

“Fuck,” Rumlow muttered, sinking into the couch. “What did I sign up for?”

“Spoon?” Darcy offered.

“I don’t eat ice cream,” he grumbled.

“WHAT?” she yelled. “Clint, he doesn’t eat ice cream!” 

“Yeah,” Clint said, appearing in the doorway with Nugget under his arm. “Rumlow is a total freak.”

“Whatever,” Darcy said. “I’m taking my pants off. Nobody eat all the ice cream.”

“That means she got PMS,” Clint said to Rumlow. Rumlow was staring at her. He looked slightly stunned.

“Yes, it does!” Darcy yelled as she went to her room to put a nightshirt on. When she came back, Rumlow was sitting there. “Where’s Clint?” she asked.

“He left. His chicken don’t like me. But I secured your ice cream,” he said.

“Thank you,” Darcy said. He passed her the carton and her spoon. He eyed her speculatively.

“PMS, huh?”

“Don’t make me stab you with a spoon,” she said. 

  
  


 


	38. Expulsion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A post-Endgame set MCU-Purge crossover for NevermoreBlack, who wanted Brock to rescue Darcy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos! TW: Endgame spoilers, violence.

_ex·pul·sion_  
_noun_  
_-the action of depriving someone of membership in an organization._  
_"expulsion from school"_

_synonyms: removal, debarment, dismissal, exclusion, discharge, ejection, rejection, blackballing, blacklisting; suspension; banishment, exile, deportation, eviction, expatriation, repatriation, refoulement, purging, displacement, transportation; (informal) sacking, drumming out, the bounce_

  
_-the process of forcing someone to leave a place, especially a country._

 

*******

Darcy left work with plenty of time to get home. She left a voicemail for Jane, although she hadn’t heard from Jane in over twenty-four months. Jane didn’t know. Nobody had known, when Thor and Jane had left to do some space exploration after the Snap was reversed, that the US government, still shaky, would fall apart. Nobody knew now, technically-speaking. But Darcy wasn’t stupid. A functioning government didn’t institute legalized crime sprees. This “New Founding Fathers” stuff? Total bullshit. Some sort of deep state deal, probably organized by the military industrial complex and shadily-elected President Thad Ross to sell bullets. She tried to push away the persistent spiraling thought that Thanos had actually won, seeding in destabilization by stealing half the planet, so that the return of that half, five years later, wasn’t a purely happy return. No, it was a lurch. A lurch in the economy, a lurch in lives. Insurance companies were suing people who they’d paid death benefits to for repayments, there were food shortages, and a sharp escalation in domestic violence as people came home to spouses who’d remarried. It was a profoundly strange time to be alive. It would have never happened if the Avengers were still here, but Tony and Natasha were dead, Steve was missing, and many of the younger superheroes had been detained in the Raft, it was rumored. She wished she’d gone to space, she thought as she crossed the parking lot. 

Darcy got in her old Civic and cranked it. She still had a key-based car. The car wheezed and sputtered. “No,” Darcy said. “No. No. No.” She tried again. The car clicked and didn’t crank. She slapped the steering wheel and yelled in frustration. Her car had broken down. On the worst possible night in history. She should have gone with Clint when he had sought asylum in Canada. But no one had thought the Purges would really happen until the date neared. She could still make the train, Darcy thought. The train, then the bus, then home. She had two hours before the Purge started. She got out of the car, locked it, and started to jog towards the nearest station.

Two hours until the Purge.

There were delays along the subway route. At one point, they were stopped for twenty-two minutes. Darcy had counted every single one. The riders got increasingly tense. “What are you looking at, motherfucker?” one guy screamed at another on the train. Darcy tried not to make eye contact, tried not to acknowledge the jittery tension among the other passengers, and the rising smell of sweat. The woman next to her was visibly sweating now. Darcy looked at her watch again.

Forty minutes until the Purge.

When the subway doors finally opened at her station, everyone around her bolted out. But she had to make the bus. She pushed forward towards the steps. It was a wild crowd, edgy and frightened. That explained what happened next. Darcy was elbowed hard in the ribs in the scramble and for a moment, was breathless with the pain. She was trying to rebalance herself when someone pushed her. “Out of the way, bitch!” a man said. That was when she lost her balance and fell backwards down the last row of metal steps. The last thing she remembered was the sweating woman from the train giving her one last terrified look.

“Wake up,” someone was saying, when she regained consciousness. Darcy jumped. A homeless man was leaning over her. “Wake up, kid,” he repeated, “you gotta get out of here.”

She sat up groggily and then began to scramble. “My bus,” she said. “My bus!”

“Too late,” the man said to her. “You fell, hit your head.”

“No, I have to--” she began. That was when she heard the thirty minute warning sirens. She got up, touching the back of her head. Beneath her hat, it felt like a lump.

“Hurry,” the man said. Darcy turned towards the steps to ground level, mind racing. If she’d missed her bus, she’d go to a hospital. Hospitals were government-enforced safe zones because the insurance companies had lobbied not to have to replace expensive hospital equipment. She turned back to the man, quietly trying to stow himself in a corner. He looked thin and frail. A dark-skinned black man, probably in his sixties. She knew the purgers targeted poor people. Poor people and minorities. He’d probably saved her life, if shit got really ugly.

“Do you want to come with me?” she called. “It’s dangerous down here.”

“No,” he said. “I’ll be all right.”

“No, dude. They target subway stations. You’ll be pinned down here. I’m going to New York Methodist Hospital. Come with me,” Darcy said pleadingly. She was plugging in the directions in her phone when he shuffled out.

“This don’t sound like a good plan,” he said. He sighed.

“You woke me, we’ll figure it out,” she promised. “I owe you.”

 

At street level, Darcy started looking for an abandoned car. She found one up a few blocks. “You can steal a car?” the guy said. It was getting dark.

“Yeah,” she said, opening the door. She locked them in and started hot-wiring.

“You don’t look like the type,” he said.

“I’m Darcy,” she said, as the car stirred to life. “I had some good friends who taught me.” Natasha and Steve had taught her skills. She still had her last taser from Tony in her purse, too. “Buckle up,” she advised him, pressing the gas.

“Interesting friends. David Alford,” he said, tapping his chest, “but my friends call me Day.”

“Day, would you believe I knew Captain America?” she said. “A little.”

“Where is he?” Day asked.

“Hell if I know, but when he comes back, we’re having words,” she said. That made Day chuckle. He sounded a little wheezy to Darcy. Once they were out, she’d yell at someone about getting him antibiotics or something. She pressed a number on her contacts list. The only New York-connected emergency number on her list that still answered, probably.

“Darcy?” Happy Hogan’s voice said when the speaker came on.

“Hey, Happy, I’m in a bit of a situation. Headed to New York Methodist, but Stark Maps is giving me an eighteen minute route--”

“You’re only ten minutes before it starts,” Happy said in alarm. Darcy knew Happy and Pepper were leading anti-Purge activists. Pepper had actually emigrated to England after Morgan’s life had been threatened by pro-purgers. Happy was in Toronto. A lot of anti-Purge people had moved there while they worked remotely for American companies. It had been one of the reasons people assumed the purges would fall apart, loss of industry and workers to Canada.

“I know,” Darcy said grimly. “I stole a car, but do you have any contacts who could help me with a plan B?”

“I’ll call someone,” he said. “Darcy, please. Find somewhere safe and hide out, okay?”

“I will. I’ve got location services on my phone,” she said. She could hear him giving orders to the AI.

“I’m calling everyone I know, okay? We’ll find someone,” he said, before he hung up. The light in front of Darcy turned red and she swallowed. She and Day looked at each other. Dimly, she could hear public warning speakers telling them they had eight minutes.

“I hope your friend comes through,” he said.

“We’ll make it,” Darcy said firmly. She hit the accelerator as soon as the light turned. You couldn’t run a redlight before the Purge: that was still a crime.

 

They didn’t make it to the hospital. They were a half-mile away when the Purge started. Darcy could see the barricades in the distance and had already stowed her phone in her bag and put the bag over her shoulder, so she could run. It was just that someone had set up strips to blow the tires on cars seeking refuge. “Fuck,” she said, when she hit them in the dark and her car started to lose momentum. In a desperate move, she yanked the steering wheel. The bullets from a purger--probably the one with the strips--started hitting the back of the car. She managed to drive them onto a sidewalk. She and Day scrambled out through the passenger side and were momentarily sheltered in a doorway.

“You all right?” Day asked. She nodded. She heard someone running towards them. She reached for the Stark taser in her purse. This might not work, but she would go down fighting. When the man got next to them, she lunged out and tased him in the side of the neck. He went down spraying bullets. Day yanked the gun away from him and Darcy dragged him partially into the doorway to take any weapons he had. There were multiple guns. “You going to shoot somebody?” Day asked her, as she tucked a pistol in her purse and handed another to him.

“I don’t want to shoot anybody,” she said. “But I don’t like bullies.” Steve had told her that once. She hit recharge on her taser and then knocked the purger in the face with his own heavy gun. She didn’t want to be followed. “Let’s go,” she told Day. “We’ll cut through in between the buildings, try to make it to the hospital.”  

 

They hugged the side of the building. Darcy kept repeating to herself that it was only a few blocks. They could make a few blocks. But she could hear screaming and gunfire. It was horrifying. As they were creeping down an alley, Darcy saw headlights behind them as a car passed the alley, stopped, and then backed up. A low car. It turned down the alley to follow them.  Darcy wanted to run. That was her first instinct: a terrified desire to bolt. But if she ran to the middle of the alley, they could mow her and Day down. The car blared its horn. Darcy felt a rolling, miserable panic in her gut. She was going to die. She looked at Day. He’d saved her life. She could save his, she thought. “Go,” she yelled. “There’s a hospital annex building in two blocks! I’m going to slow him down.” She gave him the automatic rifle she’d stolen from the purger.

 

Then she turned and ran directly at the car, screaming like a banshee. She expected the purger who rose out of the driver’s side to shoot at her.

“Lewis,” he said bluntly. “What the fuck are you doing?” She knew that voice.

“Crossbones?” she said, stopping. “I thought you were dead?”

“I had a change of heart in 2012 when Cap went HYDRA. Didn’t want to be in a club that would have him for a member. Everything since then has been a ruse,” he said. “Get in the damn car, Happy sent me. I’m here to rescue your crazy ass.”

“Day,” she yelled. “My friend came through.”

“Who the fuck is this?” Rumlow said, drawing his gun.

“My new friend, he helped me in the subway,” Darcy said, stepping between him and Rumlow.

“Jesus,” he muttered. They got in the car. “Only you would pick up strays during the Purge.” He looked at Day. “Try shit, I’ll kill you, understand?”

“Calm down, you’re scaring him,” Darcy said. Day looked petrified.

“He’s all right?” Day whispered to Darcy.

“I guess, I’m not up on his current activities,” she confided. “You look, uh, well?” Someone had fixed his face. He looked at her wryly.

“Yeah, I’m doing okay for a dead guy helping Fury and Hill overthrow the government,” he said. “We’ve got an underground facility three blocks from here. You wouldn’t have made it to the hospital anyway. The government teams kill anybody seeking asylum.” They drove in silence while that sunk in.

“We wouldn’t have made it,” Darcy said numbly.

“Nope,” he said. “When Wilson and Barnes bring Cap back, if I’m still alive and we can stop Ross, I’m going to throw Rogers into an elevator ceiling for leaving us to deal with this Purge shit. New Founding Fathers, my fucking ass.”

“Is he serious or crazy?” Day whispered to Darcy, as they pulled into an underground parking garage. Darcy shrugged. She really wasn’t sure at this point. Rumlow was stone faced. His key card went through a second scanner and then a wall raised to reveal another section of the building.

“Home sweet home for the next eleven hours,” he said dryly.

When they’d gotten out of the car, Darcy realized Maria Hill was there and sighed in relief. "We're safe," she whispered to Day. "You can trust Maria absolutely." He nodded. One of the agents took him for a change of clothes and food. There were several other SHIELD agents she recognized.

When she turned back to Rumlow, he was watching surveillance footage of people being shot in the street. “This shit,” he muttered. He turned.

“Where are you going?” Darcy said.

“I’m going out to rescue some more fucking people,” he said grimly.

“Oh,” Darcy said.

“See you soon, sweetheart,” he called.“Who’s with me?” One of the other agents stepped up. Cameron Klein, Darcy remembered.

“Be careful!” Darcy yelled. Rumlow left with a brusque wave, Klein following him in a bullet-proof vest. She didn’t understand any of it. Maria Hill came to stand beside her. “What happened in 2012?” Darcy wondered out loud.

“When we find Steve, I’ll know the whole story,” Maria said.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel l should clarify: this follows canon-Endgame in the sense that Steve went back in time for Peggy, not realizing the government would fall apart in his absence. Sam and Bucky are looking for him in time, while the remaining SHIELD folks try to covertly deal with the Purge, minus everyone who died in Endgame.
> 
> When Rumlow refers to 2012, Rumlow means he switched sides in the ensuing chaos after Steve did the 2012 elevator ruse. But--of course!--Maria Hill wouldn't be entirely certain what the heck happened with all the Stones, because she was snapped. It would all be confusing, no?


	39. Twin Beds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation Prompt for winchesterxgirl:
> 
> “Being trapped with you drove me to insanity and murder.”  
> “Oh please, you were a murderer when we met. And you think you’re the only one who’s suffered? I was on my way to a master’s degree when we met, now I’m a fucking vigilante. We ruined each other mentally and emotionally. Can we just cut the crap and get down to physically?”  
> “… Do you mean fighting or…?”  
> “Whatever happens happens.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

“Brock,” Darcy said, “what are you doing?” He was mopping up something red and wet off the floor of their shared kitchen. They were pretending to be a married couple to surveil the suspected HYDRA scientists maybe stealing nuclear codes next door. Fury’s idea, not hers. She was normally a lab assistant for Jane, but Jane was in space and Darcy got space sickness. Darcy had no idea why they’d chosen her for this, except that Brock Rumlow was a wiseass and had the face and abs of a womanizer. He’d probably pissed off the majority of the female agents at SHIELD already.

“Being trapped with you drove me to insanity and murder,” he said, looking over his shoulder at her. He smirked. Like a wiseass.

“Oh, please, you were a murderer when we met,” she said, rolling her eyes. He’d been a triple agent for a long time, she’d gathered. He was really very good at pretending to be the doting hubby. “And you think you’re the only one who’s suffered?” she said, dropping her bag. She threw some of their fake mail on the dining room table. He grimaced and looked at the mail organizer he’d insisted on. He was entirely too neat for Darcy. It was creepy. “And anyway, if that was really blood, you’d have put down some plastic sheets, Italian Dexter,” she said. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Don’t forget we have dinner with the Graves at 7:00,” he said. That was the couple next door. Sheila and Dave. Darcy had mentally nicknamed them Shady and Devious Graves.

“The Graves,” Darcy snorted. “I can’t believe that dumb name.”

“Can’t you take this seriously?” he complained. “This is important.”

“I had my nails did all special, honey,” she said jokingly. “But you better get to cooking while I get more beautiful.” He’d volunteered to cook; apparently, he was good at it. Since her cooking amounted to heating Trader Joe’s dishes, operating a coffee pot, and toasting Thor’s Pop Tarts, she wasn’t gonna argue. She walked past him. The stuff on the floor was wine vinegar, she realized, sniffing. There were mushrooms and onions chopped in neat little piles on the cutting boards. Even his meal prep was freakishly organized, she thought, shaking her head.

 

Sheila was a strawberry blonde who looked like she could be the protagonist’s ex-girlfriend on a sitcom, Darcy thought. She smiled a lot. Dave pretended to be boring and talked a lot about the stock market. It was obvious to Darcy that they were both insane. Their eyes were weird as hell. “Did you happen to see that tv special on the Manson Family?” Darcy chirped. Brock’s head swung towards her and his jaw flexed. It was a tiny motion, but one of his tics. It translated as, _don’t jeopardize my mission, Lewis, you crazy little squirrel._

“Honey,” Brock said, “not everybody likes true crime as much as you do.”

“Oh, c’mon, babe,” Darcy said, reaching over to rub his thigh. She felt Brock’s knee jump just slightly. They typically held hands or touched shoulders. She’d decided they were in a sexless fake marriage. Probably because he was such a neat freak and she was a slob. “People are fascinated by crime. It’s all about looking into the abyss or whatever. Who said that? Freud?” Darcy added.

“Nietzsche,” Dave said.

“See, I barely passed psych,” Darcy said airily. “It was a nine am class and I overslept a lot.”

“She’s very lucky I came along to give her some financial stability,” Brock said, looking smug.

“He says that like he doesn’t brag about me being twenty-nine,” Darcy said.

“You’re thirty-one,” Brock said. Darcy yelped.

“I am not!” she insisted. It was, technically, her age, but they didn’t need to know that.

“You don’t look thirty-one,” Sheila said.

“Can you believe he’s fifty-three?” Darcy said, jerking her thumb at Brock.

“You’re kidding!” Sheila said.

“You stay in good shape, pal,” Dave said mildly.

“I try to get to the gym sometimes,” Brock said with false modesty.

“Some days, he goes more than once, he’s obsessed with his body fat percentages. Babe, show ‘em your tummy. It’s amazing,” Darcy said. “I thought he’d had ribs removed, you know, like they used to say Cher did. He’s crazy lean.”

“Cher?” Brock said to her, looking astonished.

“You know Cher!” Darcy said. “Don’t pretend you don’t.” She sang a few bars of “If I Could Turn Back Time” off-key. He was staring at her now.  “Did you know Cher is Armenian like the Kardashians?” Darcy said to the other couple.

“I did not,” Dave said. Brock blinked slowly.

“C’mon, show Sheila and Dave your abs,” Darcy said. She grinned.

“Sure,” Brock said. He lifted his t-shirt a fraction.

“Wow,” Sheila said.

“Right?” Darcy said. “Who wants more Greek salad?”

“I do,” Dave said.

“Here you go, Dave,” Darcy said. She hummed a few bars of “Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves.”

 

“Is there something literally wrong with you?” Brock hissed as they stood in the kitchen. “Or are you just a complete  pain in my ass?”

“That feels very judgy, babe,” Darcy said, giggling. “You married a woman half your age, they’re expecting me to be a little weird and have low self-esteem.”

“Goddammit,” Brock said, gripping her shoulders. He was just about to say something in anger when Sheila pushed the door open. Darcy did the first thing she could think of: she kissed him on the mouth to shut him up. She wasn’t supposed to do much of that; they’d decided on the most cursory PDA to sell this thing. Usually, he just swung an arm over her shoulder and left it at that.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sheila burbled, stepping back. Darcy expected Brock to push her back as the door swung shut. She’d only intended it as a brief lip smack to cut off his words. What she didn’t expect him to do was relax into the kiss, swiping at her lips with his tongue. His fingers slid down her shoulders, pulling her closer. They kissed for a long moment. She was the one to pull back, leaning around him.

“Sheilla, it’s okay!” she yelled. “I’ll make him behave.” Darcy glanced at him. She felt weirdly nervous. He was staring at her inscrutably as Sheila came back in. “Why don’t you ask Dave that stock thing, babe?” Darcy suggested, wiping her lipstick off his mouth. He gave her a look and then left the kitchen. Sheila laughed uncomfortably.

“Did I interrupt a moment?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Darcy said. “We’ve been married, what, six years? It’s not like he doesn’t know I’m sleeping in the same room with him tonight.” That made Sheila laugh until she actually snorted. Darcy fully expected to get a very long lecture from Brock once they left. When they went out to the living room, the two men were having a long discussion about diversified portfolios and some sort of tech stock. Darcy yawned, then waggled her eyebrows at Brock. He gave her one of his patented “mysterious man” faces; he could be pissed off, he could be bored, or he could have pulled a muscle in his tongue when it was in her mouth. It was impossible to tell. “Coffee?” Darcy suggested.

“Good idea,” Sheila said. “You need a hand?”

“Oh, no, thanks,” Darcy said, smiling.

 

She was filling the reservoir with water when the front door burst open and the tactical team swooped in to arrest them. The SHIELD team quietly raiding Sheila and Dave’s house must’ve found the evidence they were looking for. Minutes later, a handcuffed Dave and Sheila were being led away and Brock was talking to Fury.

“I’m here to take you home,” Sharon Carter told her. “Brock volunteered to do all the debrief and paperwork.”

“Oh, okay,” Darcy said.

“Just get whatever you need to take home,” Sharon said.

Darcy slept in her own bed that night for the first time in several weeks. It was oddly weird not to hear Brock snoring next to her. They’d slept in adjoining beds like a fifties sitcom couple. She’d sort of gotten used to his breathing. Like a white noise machine. The next day, Fury rotated her over to one of the other units; she got to run errands for Cameron Klein and Sharon Carter, which was much more her speed than either pretending to live in the suburbs or having Brock teach her boxing moves in the living room. She didn’t expect them to see much of each other, obviously, but she was a little miffed that he didn’t say anything to her, other than copying her on his email with the final report. “What?” Sharon said, seeing her face as she read.

“Schmuck Brock actually _documented_ that I ‘behave in a manner inconsistent with good cover maintenance,’ can you believe that? The schmuckdoodle!” Darcy fumed.

“What’d you do?” Sharon said, grinning.

“Oh, I made him show the HYDRA spies his abs,” Darcy said. “Also, I sang some Cher at dinner.”

“Good for you,” Sharon said.

 

Darcy was going out to get some lunch for Cam--he was on a special diet and panicking because he was out of meal-replacement shakes, she felt sorry for him--that afternoon when something happened. One moment, she was bopping along to her music near the GNC and the next she’d spotted two teenagers hassling a smaller kid at a bus stop. “Hey!” she yelled. “Cut that shit out!”

“Oh, yeah, what are you going to do?” one of teens said to her. “Little mama’s gonna put up a fight?” That pissed her off. When he approached, she tased him. When his buddy rushed her, though, her taser wasn’t recharged yet. She did what Brock had taught her. She aimed squarely for his chin. Her fist connected with a crack. He went down like a tree.

“Ow,” Darcy told the little kid being bullied, shaking her hand. “I’ve never done that without gloves. That was a bad idea.” The kid nodded seriously. That was when the cop showed up, doing that little one-peal of the siren thing in his squad car. He insisted that she go to the station and there had to be reports. And she didn’t have Thor to get her out of it. “Whoops,” she whispered to herself. “Cam is going to be hungry.”

 

But it wasn’t Cam who came to get her at the station. “Your, uh, husband’s here?” the cop said.

“My wha--oh,” Darcy said, when she saw Brock through the glass. She waved. He frowned.

“We’re releasing you into his custody,” the cop explained.

“Great,” Darcy said.

 

Brock didn’t say much until they were in his SUV. “You hit a kid?” he said.

“That kid was taller and bigger than me! He had biceps like the Gronk. And he was behaving ominously towards an eleven year old,” Darcy said. “I might have saved that little kid’s life, you don’t know.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “So, I teach you self-defense and you immediately turn into Frank Castle? Great job, Lewis.” He was drumming on the steering wheel.

“So, it’s my fault? My fault? What about you? You didn’t warn me about the no-gloves thing! And yeah, I was on my way to a master’s degree when we met, now I’m a freaking vigilante. I don’t see how you’re not at least partially responsible!” Darcy said, torn between laughter and irritation. He was listening to CNN on his car radio. That had consistently driven her crazy. She flicked it to the ABBA station. He looked at her at the red light.

“No gloves thing?” he said.

“It hurts to hit without gloves,” she said. “I feel like I should have been warned.” He snorted.

“I’ll accept 40% of the blame for turning you into, uh,--” he paused.

“Punching Polly,” Darcy joked.

“Punching Polly the Cher enthusiast,” he said. “But 60% is still on you.”

“I can do math,” Darcy said.

“Can you?” he teased.

“Just because you have Excel spreadsheets for the banking activities of your fake husband identities, doesn’t make me an underachiever,” Darcy said.

“Fake husband,” he said.

“I don’t follow,” she said.

“I’ve never pretended to be married to anybody else,” he said.

“Gee, I’m sorry my performance was so subpar then, I’ve probably ruined it for fake wives all across SHIELD,” she said.

“What?” Brock said.

“I saw your report,” she said. “You thought I was terrible.”

“No,” he said. “No. That’s not--look, are you hungry?”

“I just spent several hours in a police station and I haven’t had lunch, I’m starving,” she admitted.

 

He took her to a place they’d gone once when they were getting to know each other before faking coupledom. “What is up with you?” she asked. He kept looking like he wanted to say something, then pausing.

“Look, I, uh, put that in the report because I didn’t want Fury dragging you into that side of things, okay?” he said. “He’d do it if he knew how good you were. You like your assistant work and that shit isn’t safe.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “That’s nice of you.” She’d once complained that she wasn’t really prepared to do covert work. “You think I’m good at that?” He was looking out the restaurant’s glass windows. He rubbed his jaw.

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re very calm, actually.” Darcy smiled, in spite of herself. They were quiet until the food came.

“I love this place,” she said happily. Her stomach was growling.

“I miss you,” Brock said suddenly. Darcy almost dropped her sandwich. She looked at him. “I liked being married,” he said. “To you, I mean. I was wondering if you, uh, wanted to date?”

“Oooooh,” Darcy said. “This is a date?”   

“Yeah,” he said.

“Our first actual date?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling.

“You couldn’t just call me? I’m all gross and grubby from the police station and my hair’s terrible and when we’re actually married, I’ll have to tell people this story?” Darcy said, incredulous.

“Actually married?” he said. He raised both eyebrows practically to his hairline.

“Well, maybe, I haven’t said yes yet,” she told him.

“I haven’t asked!” he said.

“You will,” she said. “Obviously.”

“Excuse me?” he said.

“You’ve seen me in the morning, you’ve heard me sing, and you’re not scared, so clearly, we’re going to end up together eventually,” Darcy said. “You told the cops we were married." She raised an eyebrow. He stared at her. "Can I have you fries now, too?” He’d always given her his fries before.

“Yeah,” he said, looking stunned.

“Great,” she said. “God, I love French fries.” She realized he was watching her mouth as she ate one. His expression was still dazed. “You missed me,” she said. “Clearly, neither of us are going to want other people now.”

“No,” he said.

“I’m pretty sure we ruined each other mentally and emotionally. Can we just cut the crap and get down to physically?”

“… Do you mean fighting or…?” Brock said.

“Whatever happens happens,” she said, winking. He blinked at her slowly. Darcy waved at the waitress. “Check please,” she said. Brock was thinking, she could tell. “You can get the next one, hubby.” He looked at her intensely when she said the word.

“There are no separate beds in my bedroom,” he said, smirking.

“Even if there were, my plan was to push them together,” she said. “We could’ve done that, you know.”

“Oh, I thought about it,” he said. "That was my plan for the end of the night until the tactical team came through the front door."

 


	40. Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two prompts, one 'verse, two Fourths of July:
> 
> Prompt #473 for winchesterxgirl:  
> “This is a stainless steel household. You’d best not forget it.”
> 
> https://wonderful-prompts.tumblr.com/post/185478999562/prompt-473
> 
> Dialogue Prompt just 'cause I liked it:  
> “Everyone loves you. It’s very tedious.”
> 
> https://thewholekitandkabobble.tumblr.com/post/184792324104/dialogue-prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

**Fourth of July l: Sparklers and Bubbles**

 

“Why are you sighing?” Darcy whispered to Brock as several people lit sparklers in the yard. He looked at her and grimaced.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said, moving away from her. Darcy hurried after him, ducking his seven year old nephews as they chased each other through a house full of loud, cheerful, slightly sloshed Rumlows.

“Brock,” she repeated. She reached out and grabbed his wrist.

“Not now,” he said, sighing and looking down at her hand, curling around his. Darcy let go, put her other hand on her hip, and looked at him.

“Nope. Talk now.”

“Everyone loves you.”

“Isn’t that why you asked me to come?” she said. She’d agreed to go as his fake date for the 4th of July so she could dodge her dad’s family get-together in Virgina. Darcy didn’t like her most recent stepmother, so she usually celebrated holidays with Jane and Thor or her mom whenever possible. But this year, her mom was taking a cruise and Thor had taken Jane to space. Darcy couldn’t go to space. She got space sickness and yorked 24/7. She’d been practically grateful to Brock for inviting her to New York for the long weekend, honestly. He shrugged.

“They like you too much.”

“What?”

“I’m supposed to break up with you before the next set of holidays,” he said. “Now I’m going to look like the guy who dumped a fantastic girl.”

“Ohhhhh,” she said. “Well, isn’t that terrible?” Darcy’s voice was an arch whisper. He looked at her unblinkingly.

““People are going to give me shit at Thanksgiving. It’s very tedious,” he said dryly.

“Tedious?” she said.

“My sister got me a word-a-day thing last year, I left it up in the attic. If she asks, I’ve been cramming,” he said.

“That’s what all those little shredded pieces of paper are in your trash can? You’re trying to play catch up on your Christmas gift?” Darcy said, grinning. “Awwww.”

“It’s an insulting gift,” he grumbled. “I went to college. I don’t know why people think I don’t read.”

“Sometimes,” Darcy singsonged, “when you’re real pretty, it makes people feel better if you’re also a little bit dumb.” He snorted.

“Very funny--” he began, then stopped. His expression turned interested. “You think I’m pretty?”

“Yup,” she said. Then she turned on her heel and took two steps.

“Where are you going?” he called.

“Oh, I’m going to be tedious at the kid’s table,” she said teasingly. Darcy heard him huff out a sigh.

 

She was blowing bubbles with some of his tiny, adorable second cousins when he came up and slid his arms around her hips. “I could always invite you to Thanksgiving,” he said in her ear. She grinned as his lips grazed her earlobes.

“Excuse me, we’re very busy, Uncle Brock,” the six year old told him. Darcy had been making friends with a little girl dressed as Princess Elsa.

“Busy?” he said.

“We’re blowing bubbles,” little Elsa said.

“Can I steal Darcy?” he asked.

“No.”

“What if I bring her back for more vacations, huh?” he bargained.

“And will you help me escape my wicked stepmother?” Darcy said in her best Mickey Mouse voice. The little princess laughed.

“Yeah,” he said, kissing the side of her face. “I’d like that.”

“Okay, then,” she said, curling up against him. He continued kissing her.

“Ew, Uncle Brock,” one of the other kids called out.

“You’re making a scene,” she said.

“Room’s empty upstairs,” he whispered. “Everybody’s busy getting drunk.”

“You don’t waste any time.”

“Just come make out with me a little,” he coaxed. Darcy passed her bubble kit to the nearest kid.

“I’m giving you all the responsibility for bubbles,” she said. “You are officially the King of Bubbles.”

“I get to be the King?” he said.

“Yup,” Darcy said. “Rule with care.”

 

They had snuck back inside and upstairs and were kissing in the hallway when the door to his bedroom opened. “Hey, asshole!” his sister said. “Who did you trick into coming here?”

“Fal,” he grumbled. “What are you doing in my room?”

“Hi,” Darcy said cheerfully. Her lipstick was all over Brock’s face. She saw Fallon notice.

“I’m Fallon, I got all the good genes,” she told Darcy. “Like manners, asshole,” she said to Brock.

“I’m Darcy,” Darcy said, shaking the other woman’s hand.

“Manners,” he scoffed.

“I’m bunking with you guys,” Fal said. “Aunt Frankie has my room.”

“Dammit,” Brock said.

“We were gonna make out a little,” Darcy said. “Well, more. A little more.” Fallon started to laugh.

“I thought she was just a friend coworker?” she teased her brother.

“I said cute coworker,” he said defensively.

“You did?” Darcy said. “Awwwwww.” She leaned over and nuzzled his neck. He grinned at her.

“Oh my God, you’re going to be disgustingly cute,” Fallon said. “Where is the booze?”

 

***

 

**Fourth of July II: Pretzels and S’mores**

 

“His file says he’s afraid of fireworks and thunderstorms, so I want to get this on before they start,” Darcy said, holding up the thundershirt. She turned it back and forth. “I’m just trying to figure out which way is up?”

“Jesus Christ, it’s a straight jacket for a dog,” Brock said.

“It is not!” Darcy said. “It’s supposed to be soothing. The rescue recommended it. I want them to think we’re good foster parents, so we can keep him, babe.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said, looking at the very nervous shih tzu in Darcy’s lap. “You tell him that, sweetheart.”

“You act like I’m crazy, but you’re the one who insisted that his dog bowls match your knife collection,” Darcy said, as she velcro’d the thundershirt around the dog, changed her mind, and tried again. This time, she figured it out. 

“This is a stainless steel household,” Brock said. “You’d best not forget it.”

“He is so matchy-matchy,” Darcy told the dog. “Your bowls have to match the appliances, light fixtures, and his knives.” The shih tzu wagged its tail. “Got it. See? He’s happier already.”

“He does look happier,” Brock admitted. “Getting a dog is a great reason to stay home on holidays, too.”

“Are your guns all stainless?” Darcy wondered out loud.

“No,” he said. “I mean, when that finish is available, I get it, but…” Darcy started to giggle. She looked at the dog.

“See, your daddy is the predictable one, Pee Wee. That’s why he’s in charge of walking you in the morning,” Darcy said.

“We gotta change his name. Pee Wee is fucking terrible.”

“I was thinking Pretzel,” Darcy said.

“Pretzel?” Brock said. He paused and tried it out. “Pretzel.”

“Pretzel?” Darcy said in a happy voice. The dog wagged his tail.

“I can live with Pretzel.”

“Or Marshmallow? How would you like to be Marshmallow?” she said. “Or S’mores? Who’s a cute little S’mores?”

“Are you hungry?” Brock said.

“God, yes, how did you know?” Darcy said.

“There were hints,” he said.


	41. Admirers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for winchesterxgirl  
> “…where did all this come from?”  
> “You have admirers, apparently.”  
> “Oh. Neat. Why?”
> 
> https://corvidprompts.tumblr.com/post/185547814045/where-did-all-this-come-from-you-have

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

“Principal Reynolds,” the teacher’s assistant said. “You really _need_ to see this.” He stood up.

“Has there been an incident?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” the assistant said. She led him out to the school’s playground. A group of children were watching closely. This was no good. In the middle of the semi-circle, a girl with dark hair frowned in concentration. Then she threw. The little plastic knife sailed towards her classmate and landed in the piece of cardboard they’d taped to the slide. Behind his head.

“A knife throwing routine?” Reynolds said. “Where on Earth did she learn _that?”_ The tiny girl looked at him, frowned, and jutted out her chin.

“My Uncle Loki!” she yelled.

“Oh dear God,” he murmured. He knew exactly which child this was: the godforsaken spawn of that intimidating SHIELD agent. The one who dressed in tactical clothes and constantly set off the building’s security alarms with his personal arsenal of guns and knives at pick up times. He’d never met the mother. Allegedly, she knew Thor.

As he walked back, the principal of Brookmere Academy sighed. He did not want to meet with little Amata Rumlow’s parents. But when a pre-kindergarten student was throwing plastic knives, what could you do? He picked up his phone and dialed the number in their computer system. He was relieved when he got voicemail. He left them a slate of available times for a meeting that week.

He was sitting in his office when his assistant called to say the Rumlows had arrived on a Thursday afternoon. He steadied himself and told her to send them in. The husband was first through the door, frowning. Tactical gear again. But the woman who followed Mr. Rumlow into the room startled him. Reynolds didn’t know what he’d expected exactly. Two ominous-faced hyper professional agents?  She was much younger than he’d anticipated, with long dark hair, full red lips, and none of her husband’s frightening stillness. A low-cut top revealed a voluptuous figure. She plopped down and made a strange announcement. “You know, this is on you,” she said, unwrapping her scarf to reveal more of her curves. Reynolds’ jaw dropped.

“On me?” he stuttered, all the while thinking, _don’t look at the breasts, don’t look at the breasts._  

“She means me,” her husband said. He seemed to know exactly what Reynolds had been thinking, based on his deadly glare. “On me,” he repeated. “Not you.”

“Hi, dude,” she said cheerfully. “What trouble has my husband’s little Xerox gotten in?” She beamed at him.

“My Xerox?” the other Rumlow said aggressively.

“Brock, she is a tiny copy of you. Nose to toes,” she said. “I’m Darcy. Darcy Rumlow.” She proffered a hand and Reynolds shook it, blushing.

“She, uh, she appears to be training as a knife thrower?” he offered, hostility melting away in the face of her attractiveness.

“See?” she said, bumping her husband’s shoulder. “He loves knives. Show him the one in your boot, baby.” Her husband looked at him cannily.

“Did you need to see my knife?”

“That’s quite all right,” the principal said nervously.

“Should we talk to her?” Darcy said sweetly. “I hope she didn’t upset the other students?”

“Oh, no, no,” Reynolds said, “they, uh, were entertained.”

“Oh, that’s good,” she said.

 

“Did you have to flirt with him so much?” Brock grumbled, as they drove home. A tired Amata was dozing in her car seat in the back.

“This is her fourth pre-k!” Darcy said. “She can’t be expelled again. I just used my weapons.” She grinned slyly.

“He was practically drooling,” Brock said.

“We’re just lucky he’s into women. I had zero luck with that one principal,” Darcy said. She’d tried flirting with her last principal when their daughter had been threatened with expulsion for demonstrating her jujitsu moves on her classmates. “And she didn’t like you, either!” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t get it, we’re cute.”

They pulled up at home and he grinned. “Some people have terrible taste, sweetheart.”

“Mmmm-hmm,” she said, leaning across the arm rest to kiss him.

“Gross,” a voice said from the back. “Why are you always swapping spit all the time?” Amata said.

“Who taught you that?” Brock asked.

“Aunt Jane!” she said, laughing. She did an uncanny impression of Jane. “She says all you do is kiss all the time, like, yuck.”

“Don’t listen to your Aunt Jane,” Darcy said. “She’s just jelly that I don’t want to murder your dad when I’m pregnant.” Amata giggled.

“She threatened Uncle Thor with Mew Mew,” she told her mother.

“That I’d pay to see,” Brock said. He got Amata out of her car seat. She rested her head against his shoulder and he cupped the top of her head and kissed her. Darcy smiled at them. Amata adored her father. Darcy--her own father was sketchy--had been thrilled to see how much Brock loved their daughter and doted on her. They were two peas in a pod. She didn’t understand the people who asked why she wasn't jealous of not being her daughter's favorite. “How were your throws?” he asked Amata as they walked in to the house.

“I did good, everyone said so,” she said. Brock smiled. “It’s not like I hit Jonah,” she added. Darcy laughed in spite of herself.

She got to the front door and unlocked it. When she swung the door open, there were balloons and streamers in the living room. “Where did all this come from?” Darcy asked. It was set up for a little party.

“You have admirers everywhere, apparently,” Brock said at her elbow. Darcy grinned at him.

“There’s ice cream cake, too,” Amata said.

“Oh, neat,” she said. “Why?” It wasn’t her birthday or anything. It wasn’t anybody’s birthday or any holiday that she knew about. Well, June was national candy month. They’d already celebrated that several times.

“Because we love you, Mommy!” Amata said. “There’s a piñata, too.”

“A piñata?!” Darcy said, delighted.

“Can I hit it?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Darcy said. Brock put her down and she retrieved a foam bat and started swinging. Darcy started to laugh hysterically. “Okay,” she whispered to Brock, once she’d stopped giggling at Amata’s gleeful violence on a mermaid filled with candy. “What is this really for?” she asked. Brock pulled her in and whispered in her ear.

“Can we have another one? I want a second one.”

“I knew Jane getting pregnant would make you all broody,” Darcy said, grinning. Brock gave her a melting look. “You’re trying to bribe me into pregnancy with ice cream cake, huh?” she teased. It was hilarious.

“What else would you want?” he said cheerfully. “You laugh when I buy you lingerie and typical sexy stuff.”

"Yup." Darcy sighed happily, leaning against him. Then she picked her head up. “Is there mac ‘n cheese?” she asked.

"I can make that happen," he said, kissing her forehead. He'd gotten to the doorway when she called his name. "Yeah?"

"Yes," she said. He beamed.

"Really?"

"Ahhh!" Amata yelled, running at the mermaid to land a whack. Darcy had to cover her mouth with her hand, she was laughing so hard.

"You're sure?" Brock said.

"I'm sure," she said. She turned back to watch her daughter hit the mermaid until it spun. "We might want to send the next one to Steve and Bucky's summer art camp and not that baby warriors program on Asgard, though." 

"See, I thought that made her calmer," Brock said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this *before* I realized today was Kat Dennings birthday, total cute coincidence!


	42. la seduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #1226  
> “Sometimes I feel like screaming at God like, why? Why, out of all people, did you make that moron my soulmate?”
> 
> https://yespumpkindoodlesthings.tumblr.com/post/185566948703/prompt-1226

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

“Do you want to split wine?” Jane asked, when Darcy walked up to the restaurant’s table. Jane had gotten there first.

“Yes,” Darcy said. She sat down and started to cry.

“What’s wrong?” Jane said, getting up and pulling her chair around. Darcy wasn’t a public crier.

“Freaking Brock,” she said. “We’re over. He wants space again.”

“Oh,” Jane said. “God, I hate him.”

“I really need that wine,” Darcy said. Jane waved the waitress over and they ordered. When the waitress had left, Darcy stared at her nails. “I had these done special for our soulmark anniversary on Tuesday. Total waste.”

“Can I slap him?”

“No,” she said, dabbing at her eyes, as the waitress returned with wine.

“Are you sure?” Jane asked, as Darcy thanked the waitress.

“Soulmate trouble, sorry,” Darcy said apologetically.

“He should be the one who feels like he needs to apologize to everyone,” Jane grumbled.

“This is the last time, I’m not taking him back again,” Darcy said. She gulped a little of her wine. “I shouldn’t have to put up with his shit anymore, soulmate or not.” Every time they got close---or what felt like intimacy to Darcy--he would pull back, tell her that he needed time and space. He was a total commitment phobe. She’d thought he might be over it, finally. They’d been spending a lot of time together. She was happy. She’d been delusional enough to think he wanted to take the next step, ask her to move in. Instead, he’d called her on the phone to cancel their anniversary date and say he “needed time apart.” Darcy sighed. “Sometimes I feel like screaming at God like, why? Why, out of all people, did you make that moron my soulmate?” she wailed to Jane.

“I’ve honestly never understood why you have matching soulmarks with Rumlow, anyway,” Jane said, shaking her head. “You’ve got nothing in common, not really. What if it’s really a cosmic mistake?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “It feels like a cosmic mistake. God, this sucks.”

“I don’t understand why he keeps breaking up with you and then wanting to get back together,” Jane said.

“Because the universe is full of assholes,” Darcy said. “I think he wants to screw other women. But you know what? Screw soulmates.”

“You’re better off without him,” Jane said, nodding.

“I’m not French!” Darcy added, tearing a roll with emphasis.

“What?” Jane said, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not gonna be able to spend the rest of my life negotiating infidelity,” she said. “I was reading that _La Séduction_ book before we go to the conference in France. The French can do infidelity, but I’m not French!”

“What if we really put some distance between you two?” Jane said tentatively. “I could take that SHIELD research job in Norway?”

“Yes,” Darcy said. “Let’s move.”

  
  
He caught her packing her toothbrush and anything else she’d left at his apartment. “Jane and I are moving to Norway,” she said nervously. “We’re leaving in a few weeks.” She dreaded what he might say; they’d already signed the paperwork. She’d been afraid she would chicken out if she told him first.

She knew she would feel guilty if he asked her to reconsider. But it had felt like an odd relief, too. Painful to lose him, but like a lead weight had been taken off her chest. She was out of this situation now. 

If a small part of her had been hoping for him to say something kind or meaningful that she could carry away, too, he blindsided her with his response. “If you think I’m gonna beg you to stay,” he said. “I’m not.” His voice was blunt.

“Okay,” Darcy said, feeling slightly stunned. She carried the box out of the apartment and didn’t look back.

They didn’t see each other again, except in passing, before she left, although she sent him a brief note: _I know you tried and I appreciate that, more than you know,_ she wrote and then folded it up and left it in his SHIELD mailbox.

 

She never knew if he actually got it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a sad one I wrote last night, sorry. I was reminded that I had someone say Brock’s line to me once. I still don’t understand why he said it AT ALL (context was totally different and really very strange) but I thought it sounded great for a soulmate breakup story. 
> 
> (This is probably closest my life has ever gotten to sounding like a Henry James novel, too—the full story is just too weird for notes, but hit me up on tumblr and I’ll tell you, ha)


	43. effeuiller la marguerite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt #1209  
> “Wait, where are you going?”  
> “To save my dumbass boyfriend, I’ll call you later.”
> 
> https://yespumpkindoodlesthings.tumblr.com/post/185567023318/prompt-1209

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos! This one is the same Soulmate 'verse as Ch. 42.

They kept showing the footage of the burning Triskelion on the London news, even though it had happened two weeks ago. Darcy clicked off the television and sighed. Then she tapped a few keys on her laptop. “Jane, do you have anything planned for tomorrow?” she asked. “Jane!”

“Huh?” Jane had fallen asleep on the couch. She wiped drool off her cheek.

“Do. You. Have. Anything. Planned. For. Tomorrow,” Darcy repeated slowly. Jane blinked.

“No,” she said. Her head dropped back onto the couch pillows and she started to snore again.

“All right,” Darcy said. “Bingo!”

 

When Jane woke up, Darcy was wheeling a suitcase towards the door of Jane’s mom’s London flat. “Where are you going?” Jane said, confused. “It’s still dark.”

“To save my dumbass soulmate, I’ll call you later,” Darcy said. “Go back to sleep!”

“What?”

“I’ll call you,” Darcy called out, as the door shut. Jane looked around the empty room and then caught up abruptly.

“Ooooh,” she said. Then she picked up her phone and dialed. “I would have gone with you!” she said, when Darcy answered. “Oh. I had no idea tickets were that expensive--yes, I promise not to burn the house down. I’m hanging up now. I have a PhD!” she added, stabbing the button to end the call. “It’s like she thinks I wouldn’t survive without her.”

 

***

“Yeah, yeah,” Rumlow said, standing slowly. “One foot in front of the other, I got it,” he told the physical therapist, gritting his teeth. He took a deep breath as he used the bars. They were making him move to accelerating his healing. He couldn’t just stay in the hospital bed, apparently. He grimaced at the therapist. His skin was still scabby, so it pulled when he moved and limited his range of motion. He was struggling with walking because he’d lost the sensation of feeling in his feet. But they would discharge him as soon as he could do more of this, let him be at home. Alone.

“You’re doing well,” his therapist said.

“Oh, yeah? Any chance I can be dry for a change?” he asked, looking at the streaks his hands left behind on the metal bars of the balance frame. They kept dressing his wounds with ointment to decrease his scarring, allegedly, but he felt like a goddamned salad, all oily and disgusting. He’d shuffled forward three times and was on his fourth step when he heard a too-familiar voice out in the hallway.

“I’m looking for Commander Rumlow’s room?” she was saying.

“Fuck,” he muttered. He looked at his therapist. “Hide me.”

“What?” his therapist said.

“You gotta get me out of here--” he was saying, when someone answered her.

“He’s in the main therapy room.”

“Shit,” Rumlow groaned, as Darcy came through the automatic doors. He shifted to stand a little taller, tilting his head sideways. “What are you doing here?” he said bluntly. He would be mean and she would leave sooner, he thought. Also, he couldn’t take it if the sight of his new face made her cry. Darcy stopped and stared at him for a second. He’d expected grief, but instead, she glared.

“I,” she said. “Am here to yell at you for lying to me about your undercover work, you asshole,” she said.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“You ran me off because of your super-secret-whatever, I talked to Maria,” she said. “You are a schmuck.”

“I cannot believe you are saying this to me right now,” he said back, tapping his chest and wobbling slightly. “What kind of person comes to a hospital to tell somebody with all this”---he gestured to himself--“that they’re a schmuck? You know, that is--that is _rude.”_

“Oh my God, do you not remember telling me that ‘you weren’t going to ask me to stay’?” she said, doing air quotes. “That’s rude.”

“I did that to protect you,” he insisted. “It wasn’t safe.” The physical therapist was looking at them in puzzlement. Darcy shook her head.

“He tried to White Fang me, do you know that?” she said.

“What?” the therapist said.

“That’s when you run someone off because you love them so much and they’re better off without you and it is complete nonsense,” she said.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Brock said.

“Please, I made you watch that _New Girl_ episode, don’t pretend like you don’t know,” she said. “You know!”

“I’m a little injured here,” he complained.

“Fine,” she said. “Finish your therapy.” She turned around.

“Where are you going?” he said.

“Your apartment,” she said. “I got a key from Maria. I’m moving in with you now.”

“Christ,” he muttered. He watched her disappear down the hallway.

“Do you need me to, uh, do something?” the therapist asked.

“It’s not like I’m gonna get a restraining order on my soulmate,” Brock grumbled.

“That’s your soulmate?”

“Yeah.”

“She’s cute.”

“I know,” Brock said.

 

He’d gone back to his hospital room and fallen asleep to the sound of the television. When he woke up again, Darcy was passed out in the weird sleeping chair next to his hospital bed. Her glasses were askew on her nose. He grinned slightly and turned so he could watch her until he fell asleep again. She wheezed softly. A nurse came in to check his vitals. “I heard your soulmate was here,” she said, smiling.

“Yeah. You hear that? She denies that she snores, but you can be my witness,” Brock said, chuckling. The nurse laughed. “Came all the way from London,” he added, eyes on her face. Darcy stirred at the sound of his voice. She scrunched up her mouth.

“How’d you know I was in London?” she said, blinking. “I didn’t say that.” He shrugged the arm inside the blood pressure cuff.

“Lucky guess?” he offered. She sat up and frowned at him.

“How are his vitals?” she asked the nurse.

“Very good,” the nurse said.

“Oh, God,” he said. “I forgot your family is full of nurses.”

“Really?” the nurse said. Darcy nodded.

“Two aunts and one cousin. I’ve already talked to them. Have you eaten?” Darcy asked Brock.

“Yes,” he said with a sigh.

“Even the jello?” she said.

“That is not food,” he grumbled.

“He’s been able to hold down solid food this entire time,” the nurse said cheerfully.

“So, his GI system’s good?” she said curiously.

“Fuck,” Brock muttered. “I do not want to discuss that with you, okay?”

“If I’m going to take care of you when you’re released, I need to know everything,” Darcy said.

“He’ll probably need someone to help him with applying all the creams and taking him to therapy,” the nurse said. Brock sighed.

“This is not how I saw this going,” he said. “I’m not a damn baby.” Darcy grinned, then leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek when the nurse moved around the bed.

“Deal with it,” she said cheerfully. “You’re not doing this alone.” 

“Fine.”

“Please. You love me,” Darcy said. “How much? A little? A lot?”

“A little,” he admitted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I switched up the chapter titles to embed in a French joke.
> 
> effeuiller la marguerite - "pluck the daisy," i.e., the "he loves me, he loves me not" game. In French, it traditionally goes:  
> "she loves me a little,  
> she loves me a lot,  
> she loves me to madness,  
> she loves me not at all"
> 
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/He_loves_me..._he_loves_me_not


	44. floating is what you do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

“This is a need to know mission,” Fury told Rogers, Romanoff, and the assembled STRIKE agents. Rumlow had been pulled from new agent training for this emergency meeting. He shifted his weight.

“HYDRA?” Cap said, frowning. Rollins nodded reflexively. Rumlow and his Australian-born second in command been the only Alpha team members to surviving infiltrating HYDRA, the Uprising, and the chaos that followed. Rumlow had only recently had his post-Triskelion burns patched up by Helen Cho. He’d spent some time under his Crossbones alias stealing back things for SHIELD.

“No,” Fury said. “This is...different. We’ve got to move something, keep it secure.”

“Sir,” Hill said significantly, “maybe we should mention that it’s an Asgardian issue.”

“There is some Loki involvement,” Fury admitted.

“Why not call Thor?” Romanoff asked. Rollins and Rumlow looked at each other, frowning. Rumlow had been in New York. He knew precisely what Loki was capable of.

“Thor called us,” Fury said. “He needs our assistance. Just be prepared to keep this quiet. The package comes tomorrow. Zero-eight-hundred hours, I want everybody at loading bay one.”

“Yes, sir,” Rogers said, nodding. The group left his office. Everyone was slightly tense.

“Something from Asgard is coming to loading bay one?” Rollins said to Rumlow as they walked.

“If it’s Loki, we’re going to need weapons,” Rumlow said, thinking of the possibilities.  Natasha nodded silently. Steve was frowning.

“We meet this Loki situation head on tomorrow,” Steve told them. “Whatever he’s done that Thor needs to bring him here, it must be serious.”

 

In the morning, they gathered at the loading bay. “What the fuck is that?” Rumlow muttered. There was a large, rolling container. It was clear. Natasha tapped it.

“Reinforced for Loki?” she suggested. The transparent material was thick.

“It’s too small,” Steve said. “He’s taller than that.”

“There’s no lid,” Rollins said reasonably. “Is the lid taller?” They were debating dimensions and whether or not he’d be magically chained when Hill and Fury arrived.

“Everyone’s present,” Steve said, “what exactly are we waiting on, Nick?”

“Something I’ve never seen before,” Fury said. He looked out onto the grounds of the SHIELD facility. The sky darkened and there was a roll of thunder.

“Incoming,” Natasha said lightly. The sound rumbled again and then there was a gust of air and a sharp crack. In a whirl, Thor had landed a few feet away, red cape blowing in the wind. There was a small figure next to him.

“Jane Foster?” Steve said as she hurried towards them. Her hair was wind-blown.

“Is it ready?” she yelled over another sound.

“What the fuck?” Rumlow said, frowning at something in the sky.

“Bloody hell,” Rollins said. Something--something large was speeding out of the sky itself.

“What is that?” Steve yelled, as the air whipped around them.

“The chariot of Valkyrie drawn by the winged horses of Asgard!” Thor yelled, smiling. “A marvel, is it not?”

“Holy shit,” Rumlow muttered. He’d instinctively drawn his gun and Natasha had taken a fighting stance next to him.

Jane was frowning up at the sky. “She needs to slow down!” she yelled. She looked back at them. “Put your guns down!” she said sharply.

“There’s no threat?” Steve said.

“No,” Hill said. “Not the kind you’re thinking of.” As the chariot neared, it was apparent that it dragged a large box behind it. The box was windowless. A prison, Rumlow thought. Something to keep Loki in?

 

The chariot landed with a thud, dragging the box. Up close, he realized it was practically the size of a quinjet bay and rectangular like a shipping container. Jane dashed forward. “You sloshed too much,” she yelled at the woman holding the reins.

“We caught headwind,” Valkyrie said. Her cream and silver armor glinted in the sunlight. She climbed down and stretched her legs, seemingly calm. The winged horses whinnied at the sight of Thor, their feet stirring in the grass. Jane went to the back of the box and pried open a door.

“Oh thank God,” she said out loud, stepping inside.

“She’s just going in?” Rumlow said. Steve followed her. The rest of the SHIELD agents approached more cautiously, trying to see into the enclosed space. They knew Steve was practically indestructible.

 

After a moment--confident there was no major emergency--Rumlow holstered his gun and moved inside. It was dark inside the box. He had to wait for his eyes to adjust, but he could hear a sound. _Slosh-slosh_. As his vision adjusted, he realized there was a tank inside the container, just on the other side of a very still Captain America.

“Stop that, you’ll get me all wet,” Jane complained.

“Pfffht,” a female voice said. “The floor is wet already. Valkyrie can’t drive.”

“Darcy?” Steve said, ahead of him. His voice sounded shocked. “What--what happened?”  Rumlow had never heard Cap’s voice like that.

“Hey, Cap!” that same voice replied. Rumlow stepped around Steve to see.  A beam of light from outside hit the water tank as the doors were adjusted behind him. Rumlow sucked in a breath in surprise. He could clearly see the woman with her pale arms draped over the top edge of the tank. Dark, wavy hair hung damply around a beautiful face. She smiled at Captain America wryly and pulled a face. “It turns out that maybe you _shouldn’t_ ask Loki to turn you into a mermaid for your birthday?” she said. Her full mouth widened to a grin. Rumlow’s eyes drifted down. Inside the tank, where her legs should have been, there was an iridescent tail. It swished when she chuckled. “And now I’m kind of stuck like this?” she added.

“Oh, Darce,” Steve said.

“Uh-huh,” she said.

“We need to move her carefully,” Jane said, looking at Steve. “She can’t be out of water.”

“Or I tend to, you know, die, maybe turn a little blue,” she said, swishing her tail. “Just little things.”

“Is--is that a bloody mermaid?” Rollins said from somewhere behind him.

“If I’m not, I’m a damn good impression of one, Crocodile Dundee,” the woman in the tank called. Rumlow heard Natasha snicker, but his eyes were locked on Darcy. Her t-shirt floated dangerously high in the water, revealing a bikini top that was hardly adequate for its purposes. The top of her body was most definitely human, Rumlow thought.

“Hey,” Cap said, catching his glance. “We’re moving her. _Carefully.”_ He gave Rumlow a stern look. Rumlow nodded.

“Yes, sir,” he said wryly. Over Cap’s shoulder, the mermaid had winked at him.

“You’re cute,” she mouthed.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he said. Steve frowned. “She was just paying me a compliment, Cap,” Rumlow added.

“I was, Steve, you can’t blame him,” she said. “He’s totally innocent.”

“I’m totally innocent, Cap,” Rumlow repeated.

“Darcy,” Steve scolded. “Don’t distract people when we’re trying to move you.”

“She’s weirdly flirty in this form,” Jane grumbled.

“And I never get tired,” Darcy said, rolling over to float on her back. 

“Oh, yeah?” Rumlow said, as Rollins brought over the chains they were using to slide her tank out of the box and Steve began attaching them. She was watching him from inside the tank, hair fanned out around her head.

“Nope,” she said, biting her lip and grinning at him.

“You sure about that?” he asked. She playfully sloshed a little water at him with her tail and Rumlow laughed. He leaned forward.

 

“I think this is going to cause a problem, sir,” Hill said to Fury. They were standing at the edge of the container. A few feet behind them, Thor and Valkyrie traded jokes with a marine scientist they’d had brought in. Someone was filling the water tank in the loading bay, per his instructions. 

“You get that feeling, too?” Fury said. Hill looked back at the scene in front of her. A stunned-looking Rollins, a frowning Foster and Rogers, a smiling Romanoff, and Brock Rumlow with both of his arms draped over the edge of the tank. Darcy Lewis was smiling flirtatiously at him.

“You know,” Rumlow was saying to her, “I was in the Navy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't ask me where this came from, except that I was listening to Merrill Bainbridge's "Under the Water," hence the title:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FNQtPeHude8


	45. Berk! Berk!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dixiedolittle requested "Loki turns Darcy into a dog or a cat--something like a Pomeranian," so I had to go with a tiny, chocolate Pomeranian because Poms are the silliest, happiest little bouncers. Also, very dramatic sometimes.
> 
> Obligatory baby Pom video for the full effect: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ab1se0dkeCU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for you comments and kudos!

“You stole my glitter!” Darcy screeched at Loki. The statement preceded the clatter of an empty soda can as it sailed across the room towards his head.

“I did not!” he replied hotly. He ducked behind a piece of Jane’s equipment and the can rolled across the floor and came to rest at Jane’s feet. She looked up, frowning. They had been arguing all day long. Jane was tired. She’d been awake at four in the morning with a breakthrough.

“Children,” Jane said. “Shut up.”

“She started it!”

“He is impossible!” 

Shaking her head, Jane sighed and looked away. She’d learned to tune out their childish arguments. Darcy and Loki bickered like siblings. It was exhausting, actually. She’d brought headphones. She readjusted them and returned to her readings. They were still arguing, Jane registered dimly. She yawned. 

“I am impossible? All day long, I listen to the infernal shrieking of your musical devices--”

“They’re earbuds, Prince Snothead.”

“I have asked you to stop calling me that! It is repellant.”

“But those are your favorite colors. Oozy and green.”

“If you do not cease your disgusting slurs upon my person--”

“Nah nah, Snothead. Snothead, Snothead, Snot--ahhhh----” There was a yell and a thump as Darcy fell forward. Jane looked up. Darcy’s chair was empty. In front of it, sitting on the floor, was a small puppy. It bounced across the floor at Loki, yipping.

“Berk-berk-berk!” the puppy barked.

“Loki,” Jane said slowly. “Did you just turn Darcy into a tiny Pomeranian?”  He smirked in delight.

“Her true form, I think,” he said. “Most appropriate.”

“Turn her back.”

“But dearest Jane, she has always said she wanted a dog,” he said in mock-innocence.

“Berk!” the Pom chirped. He reached down to pick it up and it skittered backwards. Loki threw back his head and laughed in delight.

“Loki,” Jane said warningly. “You aren’t supposed to do magic outside of SHIELD-cleared work. You signed an agreement.”

“At least let me get Thor, he will be charmed,” Loki said pleadingly. “He cannot miss this, you know how he feels about slobbering canines.”

“Fine,” Jane said. He swept out dramatically, cackling in amusement. Jane rolled her eyes. Puppy Darcy was hiding under her desk. She was a tiny chocolate ball of fluff. “Come here, Darce. C’mere,” she said coaxingly. The fluffy little puppy bounced to Jane--it seemed to hop, rather than run--and she picked her up. “It’s okay, Darce,” Jane said. She held the door in her lap and waited for Thor.

Unfortunately, Jane was so tired. She nodded, trying to stay awake, then jerked her head in alarm after she drifted off. The puppy wiggled. “Did you want to get down?” Jane said sleepily. “I’ll make you a bed. You’re probably thirsty.” She made a bed out of a sweatshirt and filled a tiny cup with water. The puppy drank eagerly, then lay down on the sweatshirt. “Where is Thor?” Jane wondered. “Loki needs to change you back.” As they waited, Jane got sleepy again. She leaned her head down on the desk. In a few minutes, she was snoring gently.

Jane missed the tiny Pom disappearing out the door when a delivery man dropped off a package. She woke with a jump when Loki and Thor entered the lab.

“Where is she? Darcy! Darcy!” Thor called cheerfully. He beamed at Jane. “I am most delighted,” he said. Jane wiped a little drool off her cheek. 

“Darcy?” Jane said, looking at the empty sweatshirt bed.

 

***

Brock Rumlow was walking through the parking garage when a movement caught his eye. He stopped. Something tiny, he realized. He leaned down to peer under an SUV. That was when the tiny puppy hopped out at him, barking. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said. The dog came directly to him and he picked it up. “What are you doing here, huh? Somebody with you?” he said. He looked around. There was no one looking for a dog. He circled the garage, then looked at the puppy. “Somebody lost you, huh?” he said. The dog licked his face and he laughed. “Who’s a sweet girl?” he said. “Well, I can’t leave you here. You’re coming home with me.”

Rumlow loved dogs. He chatted with the puppy as he drove through DC traffic. “I had a dog once, he was a little bigger than you. Massimo. He was a chihuahua, good dog.” Rumlow sighed. “Old age. He was seventeen, though, I’m proud of that. I was gonna get another dog, but then I figured out about HYDRA, went to Fury, all that shit. Haven’t had time for a dog,” he said. He stopped at a red light and looked back at the tiny dog sitting in a makeshift car seat he’d made out of his gym bag and towels. She needed a good car seat. He’d gotten rid of Massimo’s car seat. The dog was looking at him. “Wasn’t gonna let any psycho HYDRA fucks near my dog. Things have been pretty shitty all around,” he added grimly. The puppy barked at him. Brock smiled. “You’re too cute,” he told it. “We’ll stop for pet food.”

 

***

“What are we supposed to do?” Loki hissed, thirty minutes later. They had been desperately searching for Darcy, to no avail.

“Well, you’ll be in trouble if we have to tell Fury that you turned my assistant into a dog!” Jane said. She was panicking. Jane got angry when she panicked. “We’ll go to security.”

“I think this is a good plan,” Thor said. “Be not afraid, Jane. It is a large facility. She shall be located.”  They talked their way into the room with the security cameras. Cameron Klein was able to track the puppy--carefully described as Jane’s cousin’s dog--through the building.

“Oh no, oh no,” Jane said, when they watched the dog bounce out an automatic door near the parking garage. “Where did she go?”

“We don’t have angles on that side,” Cameron said, wincing.

“I shall go for Heimdall,” Thor said.

Unfortunately, Thor said, when he returned an hour later, Heimdall’s vision did not include dogs. “Well,” Loki said, “this is a difficulty.”

“We have to find her now,” Jane said.

 

***

Brock carried the puppy, a crate, and a bag of small breed dog food into his apartment. Then he brought out an old storage container. Inside was a leash, a collar, two bowls, and a dog bed. There were a few toys, too. “This is Mas’s old stuff,” he explained. She seemed to listen when he talked, eyes bright. “What do you want to be called?” The puppy gamboled at him. Brock thought she seemed like a fancy sort of dog. “You look like you belong in somebody’s purse, princess,” he said. She wiggled. “Princess,” he repeated. “That’ll work.” She yipped happily and then almost fell over. He laughed.

Everywhere he went, she followed him, hopping. She was right there as he made dinner, playing with some of Massimo’s old toys. She snoozed in the crook of his arm as he watched the news, even followed him into the bathroom as he took a shower. When he pulled back the curtain, she was sitting on his bath mat. “You’re not letting me out of your sight, huh?” he said, reaching for a towel. In response, she play-attacked the bath mat. He stepped out and laughed as the dog licked at his ankles. “Hey, cut that out,” he said. “It tickles.”

“Berk! Berk!” Princess barked. He put her crate next to his bed that night, but she fussed.

“Hey, I’m right here,” he said. She whined. “Okay,” he grumbled. He let her sleep in the bed. She curled up next to him on the pillow. He smiled.

 

“She’s the best dog,” Brock told Jack Rollins two weeks later. “I swear, I’ve never had a dog that was this affectionate and excited to see me. She’s already perfectly housebroken. And she’s the smartest dog in her puppy class. She knows all the commands,” he bragged. "She stays with my neighbor during the day sometimes, doesn't bother his cats at all."

“Sure, mate,” Jack said dubiously. All Brock did was brag about his dog. According to him, little Princess was a certified genius, had the best temperament, and was just the happiest dog in the world. Jack wasn’t going to tell him that he’d heard Jane Foster was looking for a missing dog. Brock would be devastated. Also, annual reviews were next week. Jack thought he would let Brock finish those first. He didn’t want to cost anybody a raise because Rumlow was in a dark mood.

Unfortunately, someone else mentioned it at lunch. “Foster’s looking for a dog?” Brock said, face going slack. “What dog?”

“Her cousin’s dog,” the other agent said. “Went missing a few weeks ago? Little fluffy thing, got out into the parking garage.” Brock sighed heavily.

“Sorry,” Jack said.

“Foster’s a complete lunatic. I can’t imagine her being good at dog training. I’ve seen her traffic violations record. Did she let Princess out?” Brock asked. He was frowning.

“Still,” Jack said. “If it’s her dog…”

“I’ll send an email,” he grumbled.

 

He arranged to meet Foster in the lobby at SHIELD. He was carrying Princess in his arms when Jane tore across the room at a rapid speed. “Darcy!” she said. “Where have you _been? It’s been two weeks!”_ she hissed. The dog looked at her and back at Brock, unruffled and seemingly without recognition.

“She’s a dog,” Brock said slowly. “She can’t find her way back to a secured facility, Foster.” His tone was brusque. Foster sputtered.

“Trust me,” she said. “She knows what she did!”

“She is exceptionally bright,” he said defensively, “but you’re the bad pet parent here, lady.”

“Just give me the dog, Rumlow,” she said sharply. That pissed him off. He was besotted with Princess; he wasn’t going to let her go to the wrong person.

“No,” he said.

“Give me my dog!” she said.

“I thought it was your cousin’s dog?” he asked.

“Look,” she stopped, flustered. “Darcy’s mine, okay?”

“Why are you lying to me?” he guessed. She flushed a dull pink. “And I thought your assistant’s name was Darcy? Why would you give your dog the same name?”

“I--I--”

“She wasn’t wearing a collar and you let her wander around a federal building. I found her in the parking lot,” he said. “She could have died if she’d been hit by a car.”

“She left while I was taking a nap!” Jane said, clearly frustrated.

“Do you have any proof of actual ownership? AKC papers? Vet bills?” he said. “Because I’m looking at a dog who doesn’t even seem to recognize you.”

“She does,” Jane vowed, eyes narrowed. “Put her down, you’ll see!”

“Fine.” He sat the puppy down gently. “You’ll be all right, Princess,” he whispered. “You just come to Daddy, okay?” She gazed at him.

“Darcy, come on,” Jane snapped.

“Don’t snap at her,” he said.

“She’s being ridiculous!”

“If you can’t understand that she’s a dog, you have a mental problem,” he told her, crossing his arms. He stared at her. They both took several steps back.

“Darcy! Darcy!” Jane called. The puppy looked at her.

“Princess,” he said. The puppy looked, then ran to him. He leaned down and held her. She kissed his face. “That’s my girl,” he said, smirking at Foster. “This is my dog.”

“When we fix this, you are in so much trouble!” Foster said, pointing at the dog. She stomped off.

“I won’t let the crazy lady get you, sweetheart,” Brock said soothingly. “Did you run away from one of her lunatic portals?”

“Berk! Berk!” Princess barked.

“Do you want to go meet everyone in the office?” he cooed. She wagged her tail.

 

***

“What am I supposed to do?” Jane fumed in the lab. “What is she playing at?”

“Maybe she prefers life as a small fluffy dog?” Loki said. “Less taxing to her Midgardian intellect?”

“You hush!” Jane said. “Why didn’t she recognize me?”

“I believe we shall have to confess to Fury and seize Darcy from Rumlow by force,” Thor said. He called for Mjolnir. Loki raised an eyebrow.

“How dreary,” Loki said. “What if I just magic her back?”

“You can do that?” Jane yelled. “Why haven’t you?”

“I found this situation diverting, I was enjoying the lab without her atrocious music, any number of reasons,” he said, examining his nails.

“Loki,” Thor said.

“Do you think she’s still in the building?” Jane wondered.

 

***

“You take her to the dog park?” Jack asked. Rumlow was sitting at his desk with the dog in his lap. Rumlow frowned at him.

“Are you nuts? You can’t take a dog this small to a dog park. She’s in a small dog breed-specific puppy class,” he said, eyebrows raised.

“Uhhh,” Jack said.

“I can’t believe you would even consider that, it’s not safe,” Rumlow was saying scoldingly, when Jane Foster, Thor, and Loki marched into their open-plan office. “Foster,” Rumlow said, immediately curling his arms around Princess protectively. “Don’t you try anything.”

“Do it,” Jane said to Loki.

“What the fuck--” Rumlow began, as Loki gestured. There was a slight whoosh and then his arms were full of something that was decidedly not a five-pound dog.

“Bloody hell,” Jack said. “That’s Foster’s assistant.”

“Hi,” Darcy said to him. She did a little wave. Rumlow stared, open-mouthed, at the woman sitting in his lap.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Jane said. She turned her head.

“Oh, I dunno, being a dog is pretty sweet. I got to sleep all day, I didn’t have to put up with explosions, traffic, or _him_ ,” she said, glaring at Loki. “And he takes better care of me than you all put together,” she said, pointing her thumb at Rumlow.

“Really?” Jane said, hands on her hips.

“Seriously, he was very responsible and he really wanted a dog,” Darcy said. She was grinning.

“I heard you did well in puppy class,” Jack said wryly. Her smile widened.

“I aced sit and fetch,” she joked. She looked at Rumlow. “You okay?”

“You’ve--you’ve seen me naked,” he said dully.

“From some very unusual angles, yeah,” Darcy said, laughing.

“How?” Jane said, astonished.

“Oh, I used to nap on the bath mat while he showered,” she said, giggling.

“She slept on my pillow, too,” he said, still stunned.

“I can’t believe you let me worry like that so you could cuddle the hot guy and peek at him in the shower,” Jane said. “Darcy, we’ve talked about stuff like this!” Darcy hopped out of Rumlow’s lap.

“But this is totally different from that time I used Thor’s Asgardian binoculars to watch Steve run,” she said, straightening her shirt. “You don’t understand, he really missed his dog!”

“I did,” Rumlow said.

“You should get another one, you’re really good at it,” she told him. She patted Rumlow’s hair affectionately. He looked at her.

“You were the happiest dog I’d ever seen.” She laughed.

“It was legitimately the nicest vacation I’ve been on in years,” she told him.

“I’ll miss you,” he said, then looked embarrassed. She hugged him.

“I could always help you pick out the new puppy,” she said in his ear.

"Midgardians are exceedingly strange," Loki said. Then he winked at Jack.


	46. This Seems Like A Bad Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For winchesterxgirl:
> 
> “Maybe angering ancient deities is not the best idea you’ve ever had.”
> 
> https://witterprompts.tumblr.com/post/185658760451/maybe-angering-ancient-deities-is-not-the-best

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! This is a nice Soulmate AU.

“This seems like a bad idea,” Darcy said, shining her flashlight around the exterior of the abandoned, ancient structure. It was a former Norse settlement in Nova Scotia. Jane had decided that this was the perfect location to see something astronomy related. To Darcy, it was just gibberish, but she thought it might be pretty. So, they trekked out here and now it was getting dark and Darcy was anxious.

“I’m not going inside the walls or disturbing anything sacred or historical,” Jane said.

“Are you sure about that?” Darcy said.

“Of course.”

“Famous last words,” Darcy muttered. They wandered around the exterior. Jane stopped and shone her light over something in the face of a rock wall.

“Look,” she whispered. She shone her flashlight. “Aren’t these beautiful?” She started pulling away at the tall underbrush that covered some of the inscription.

“Jane,” Darcy said, “What are you doing?”

“Looking at this,” Jane said. “It reminds me of something Asgardian.”

“Please do not go full Megan Fox aliens built this on me, I do not want to believe,” Darcy said. Jane didn’t acknowledge her statement.  She was too busy touching something in the wall.

“No touch, Jane! Touch bad!” Darcy yelled. But it was too late. There was a rumble and and sudden roaring sound in the distance. Just then, there were flashing lights in the sky. “What is that?”

“I don’t know!” Jane yelled.

“Is it Thor?”

“No! Darce, run!” Jane said.

“Maybe angering ancient Norse deities is not the best idea you’ve ever had!” Darcy yelled as her flashlight jiggled. They bolted towards their rental car. The lights in the sky grew closer. There was a faint whooshing sound. In her panic, she dropped her flashlight. “Ahhhhhh!” Darcy shrieked as something large and dark landed in front of her.

“Don’t fucking move, this is trespassing,” a male voice said. Darcy’s jaw dropped. And then she got a little mad at the universe.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me, my soulmate is from the freaking Norse settlement?” Darcy said.

“What?” the voice said, blinding her with the direct glow of a flashlight. Darcy put her hands up. “I’m with SHIELD. We have special jurisdiction.”

“SHIELD?! I cannot believe all the places I broke into, trying to find you,” she muttered. “The British Library, an amusement park, my old high school,” she listed. “I have trespassed _everywhere._ I’m thirty one!” she yelled. Her eyes were shut, so she didn’t realize he’d turned the light down.

“Excuse me?” he said. “You can open your eyes, sweetheart.” Darcy opened them, blinking slowly until her vision adjusted in the dark. Jane came running up, flashlight bouncing.

“Darce, it’s SHIELD,” she began.

“I know,” Darcy said. “This is my soulma--wow,” Darcy said. Jane had shifted her light to the man in front of Darcy. He was astonishingly good-looking. “Well, someone’s a ten,” she joked reflexively. He smirked.

“Was it worth the wait, baby?” he asked. He introduced himself: "Brock Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha."

"Darcy Lewis, long-suffering assistant."

“Oh my God,” Jane said. “Your soulmate is a jack-booted thug! I thought it might at least be a museum guard!”

“How many museums did you break into?” he asked, looking at Darcy curiously.

“I plead the Fifth?” she said.


	47. it's complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm not ready for this to come back and bite me. I know it will" for winchesterxgirl 
> 
> https://witterprompts.tumblr.com/post/185658488724/im-not-ready-for-this-to-come-back-and-bite-me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Content warning for g-rated poly shenanigans, if that's not your thing.

“So,” Jane said significantly, “Frank’s staying with you?”

“Yeah. And I’m watching his dog if he goes to New York to see Curtis or Karen. So?” Darcy looked up from her email replies and gave the scientist a look. The look suggested that Darcy was totally over Jane’s terrible attempt at subtlety.

“What’s Rumlow going to say?” Jane asked.

“How droll of you to even think he’s aware of my existence,” Darcy said. “I have no idea where Brock is. He called me to say he’d visit four months ago and never showed. Again,” she added. This was an old pattern: he’d disappear for months at a time for work, show up as if he’d seen her yesterday, they’d have a great week or a few days, Brock would promise her more time and attention, and then, poof, he was gone again.

“Yeah,” Jane said, “listen, Darce, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but, um, Brock is—”

“Is like my father, yes, I have noticed the similarities,” Darcy said coolly. “When I was twelve, my dad would promise me a horse or something and then I wouldn’t hear from him for nine months. Now Brock promises me we’ll get spend more time together and does the same disappearing routine,” she said, sighing. Then she started to cry. “I know I should just cut him out of my life, too, but that’s actually really difficult when he keeps randomly showing up. And when he’s here, he’s so _great_. At least my dad bailed once I turned eighteen.” She put her hands over her face and wept. Jane hugged her. “And we haven’t gotten to the unwrapped Barbies left in grocery bags on the porch for my birthday stage yet,” she said sadly. Her father had done that once. She hadn’t actually seen him for that birthday, just come home to a grocery bag with a doll in it hanging on the front door handle. She rested her head on Jane’s shoulder for a second, trying to calm her breathing. “Wouldn’t want to miss that,” she choked out sadly.

 

“You all right?” Frank said, when she got home. He looked over the couch at her. His pit bull met her at the door. She rubbed Dog’s squarish head affectionately and his tail swished in delight.

“Nope,” Darcy said. “But I don’t wanna cry again about my love life or my family life.”

“Okay,” Frank said. “What if I just order you pizza and get you a little wasted? That a good plan?”

“Sure,” Darcy said. 

 

She was two glasses of wine in and regaling Frank with “bad dad” stories when the pizza arrived. “He asked you if you wanted a fucking pony?” Frank said, dumbfounded.

“My grandparents--his parents--own land,” she explained. “He asked what kind of horse I’d want if he got me and my cousins one. I wanted a palomino,” she said. “He also wanted to take us to the state fair, a monster truck rally, lots of southern white trash stuff,” she joked. “Ta da! I’m an adult woman with absentee boyfriend issues.”

“Tell him to fuck off, Lewis,” Frank said. “Don’t waste your life on this guy. Or your fucking father. Both of ‘em.” He rubbed the top of his head. It was one of his emotional tics. Darcy sighed and looked at him. He made eye contact with her.

“What if I really love him, Frank?” she said. “Brock, I mean? That’s the problem. When he’s present, he’s very loving. He just can’t ever be here all that frequently.”

“Well, shit,” Frank said. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“No shit,” she said. “I think I need more pizza.”

“All right, more pizza,” he said, getting her the box. “I can handle more pizza.” He smiled at her when he sat back down and it was such a sweet, kind smile that she did something idiotic. Darcy leaned over and kissed him. She missed his lips slightly and left a streak of marinara next to his mouth. He blinked at her. She didn’t mean to stupidly hit on Frank, of course. He had his own problems: he’d lost his family and was trying to put his vigilante past behind him, be peaceful. Darcy was trying to be a friend. Her making a mistake was the last thing he needed. 

“Shit, sorry,” she said. “Forget I did that. That was stupid. Sorry, sorry.” She waved her hand. “You don’t need me bringing the crazy.”

“You’re not crazy,” he said, wiping his cheek sheepishly. “You kinda kiss like him, though.” He meant Dog.

“Shut up!” she said. He started to laugh. 

She thought they had it handled, whatever tension there was between them, but two days later she decided on cereal for dinner when he bumped her in the kitchen. “Sorry,” they both said simultaneously. 

“Lemme get that for you,” he said, reaching around her for the milk.

“Thanks,” she said, turning from the fridge to look at him. Their faces were very close. He leaned in slightly. For a second, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. She leaned the rest of the way and their lips met softly. He tilted his head, sucking gently at her top lip.

“Frank, I don’t want to ask you to do something you don’t want to do--” she whispered. He was so close to her. He nuzzled her face.

“You’re not,” he said wryly. “C’mon, postpone your Cocoa Puffs.” Darcy laughed.

  
  
  


“What the fuck is this?” a voice said sharply. Darcy opened her eyes and shifted away from where she’d been resting on Frank’s shoulder. Brock was standing in the doorway of her bedroom. She’d forgotten he had a key. 

“Brock?” she croaked. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s your damn birthday in a week, I cashed in a few favors to get time off. Who is this motherfucker?” he said bluntly.

“This is Frank--”

“Frank Castle,” Frank said, opening his eyes and grimacing. 

“Jesus fucking Christ, he’s the Punisher!” Brock said. “Have you lost your mind?”

“He knows who I am?” Frank said wryly.

“He’s a SHIELD agent,” Darcy explained. 

“Can I have a fucking word?” Brock said grimly. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said. She slid out of bed, picking up her robe and putting it on. She heard Brock sigh. 

“SHIELD agent, huh?” Frank said.

“I run STRIKE Alpha and do undercover work,” Brock said. “Legally.”

“Impressive.”

“Fuck you, asshole.”

“Stop,” Darcy said. She shooed Brock out of the room. They sat around the kitchen table. Brock licked his lips, started to say something, then paused. “Well?” she said.

“You don’t want to see me anymore?” he said. He’d put his hand on his jaw.

“When do I see you, exactly?” she said.

“As much as I can, I’m here--” he began.

“Which is not at all!” 

“You’re angry,” he said. “You wouldn’t be angry if you didn’t care.”

“All right, fine. I wish we could work. But you’re gone all the time,” she said. “I need more than you just showing up whenever. Frank’s a friend. We’re both kinda lonely, okay? He’s been staying with me for a few weeks and---” She felt herself start to cry a little. He looked pained.

“Baby,” he said. “Don’t cry, shhh, it’s okay.” He came around and held her. “Look,” he said. “If this guy makes you happy, I can deal with it, all right?”

“Deal with it?” she said, confused.

“Split time with you,” he said. “At least you’d be safer with him around--”

“You think I can date both of you?” Darcy said in shock. Frank chose that moment to shuffle out of the bedroom.

“You’re gonna have a busy social calendar, Lewis,” he said. “I’m taking the dog out--”

“I’m serious,” Brock said, looking between them. “I can’t be here all the time, but you shouldn’t be alone if you don’t want to be.”

“Yeah, sure, you can handle it,” Frank said sarcastically.

“I can,” Brock insisted.

“Can you?” Darcy said to Frank. He tilted his head quizzically.

“I’ll let you know,” he said. Then he whistled for the dog and left the apartment.  

“You’re considering it?” Brock said, sounding pleased. His expression was hopeful. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “But what about logistics?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Brock said reassuringly. “Make a plan. Come sit with me, I’ve missed you,” he said, kissing her. She nodded. She didn’t want to give him up. 

They were snuggling on the couch and making out when Frank and Dog returned. He looked at them. “It’s not like we don’t talk about Maria all the damn time,” he said. Then he walked into Darcy’s bedroom. “I’m taking a shower,” he called out.

“What’s that mean?” Brock said.

“It means yes,” Darcy said. “I think.”

  
  


“You’re going to live with both of them?” Jane said, shocked, when Darcy explained what was going on.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “Whenever Brock is in town.”

“And how is that going to work?”

“Right now, we’re discussing me spending the night with each of them in rotation. Equal time,” Darcy explained. “Sort of like these Nepalese polyandry wives I read about online.”

“Okay,” Jane said. “And you think that will go okay?” 

“I mean, eventually, there will be a disagreement or major conflict? But right now, they’re getting along. They went to the gym together and watched basketball yesterday.”

“Okay,” Jane repeated.

“I think they could be friends, if not more,” she said. “You know Brock flirts with cute men like crazy sometimes. I don’t think it really bothers him if I'm with somebody else, as long as he gets attention. Frank is maybe more traditional.”

“Uh-huh,” Jane said. “So, dating two guys who are murdery at the same time won’t come back to bite you?”

“No.”

“No?”

"I'm not ready for this to come back and bite me,” Darcy confessed. 

“Who would be?” Jane said. "Sif, maybe." She looked thoughtful. "But she has those dagger things."

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “I know it will--maybe--but what if I want to try anyway?” She looked at Jane.

“Just don’t get shot in some sort of friendly-fire dispute over who has sex night,” Jane said, nodding.

“Jane!”

“Or stabbed.”

  
  
  


“This is nice, thank you,” Darcy said, curling into Brock’s embrace. “You’re being very open-minded.” 

“It’s not a problem,” Brock said smugly. “I’m not one of those guys who gets threatened easily.” On her other side, Frank scoffed audibly.

“Bullshit,” he muttered. “I saw your face when she said she wanted to nap with both of us.”

“Shhh,” Darcy said. “It’s my birthday nap time.” She closed her eyes.

“Yeah, okay,” Frank said. “I’m not having sex with him, though.”

“Yeah, right,” Brock said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Frank said.

“I see you,” Brock said. _“Hey, Brock, can I borrow your gun sight? Hey, Brock, who’s your trainer?”_

“Why do you need his gun sight?” Darcy said, concerned. “Are you slipping?” Frank wasn’t supposed to shoot anyone. 

“No,” Frank said. “I was just making conversation! He bragged that it sees through walls--oof,” he said. Frank’s sentence was cut off by the arrival of Dog, who landed on them.

“There’s my _favorite_ favorite guy,” Darcy said, delighted.

“Conversation?” Brock said, picking up his head. He looked skeptical. “You were totally looking at my ass, I saw you.”

“Nobody looks at your ass.”

“Everybody looks at my ass. It’s a good ass. Baby, tell him,” Brock said. Darcy was too busy being kissed by Dog to respond.

“Mmmpflayht nicefff,” she said. “Dog kisses! Ahhhh!”

“What’d she say?”

“Play nice,” Brock said, smirking. 

“I have the dog who is her actual favorite,” Frank said. “You shouldn’t forget that, asshole.”

“He totally wants to have sex with us,” Brock whispered in her ear, chuckling.

“I heard that!” Frank said.

“You two bicker like an old married couple,” Darcy said, as Dog rolled over on his side and wiggled across her body. “Should Dog and I leave the room, let you work this out with a heavy makeout session or something?”

“Sure,” Brock said cheerfully. Frank raised an eyebrow at him. “Whoops,” Brock said, pretending to be abashed. “Someone’s not ready.”

“I probably should have warned you that he has very bisexual energy sometimes,” she said to Frank.  

“Uh-huh,” Frank said. 

“I won’t hurt you, don’t worry,” Brock said. 

“I know you won’t,” Frank said.

“I don’t like threats of violence at nap time,” Darcy said, wiggling.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Brock said. He looked at Frank over her shoulder as he looped an arm around Darcy. “I’m a very open-minded guy. No hang ups. Keeps me young.”

“I heard you were like eighty,” Frank muttered.

“You been asking around about me, Castle?” Brock asked.

“Not like that.” Frank looked at the ceiling, shifted. “Besides, if we’re gonna sleep with anybody together, it would be someone like Curtis,” he said.

“Oh,” Darcy said. “That’s your type?”

“I dunno, I never thought about it,” Frank said.

“Never?” Darcy said.

“Maybe a little,” Frank admitted. “But I can tell you my type isn’t guys with that many goddamned hair products, all over the bathroom--” He pointed at Brock.

“That’s hurtful,” Brock said. He looked at Darcy. “Is Curtis better-looking than me?” 

“He’s pretty cute, but he seems more like a monogamy guy to me. Very reliable,” Darcy said. “You wouldn’t pick Karen?” she asked Frank.

“Who’s Karen?” Brock said.

“His sorta girlfriend,” Darcy said.

“She’s not--”

“She’s not?” Brock said.

“They have a thing,” Darcy said. “It’s very emotionally-intense, an emotional bond.” Frank nodded.

“Huh,” Brock said.

“It’s complicated,” Frank said. “Anyway, I can’t see Karen being into this.”

“Hey!” Darcy said. “This better not mean me.”

“I’m sure Karen would sleep with you, whoever she is,” Brock said, snuggling her closer. “You’re very comfy.” He sighed.

“Why does he even leave?” Frank mused. “All he does is paw at you all the time.”

“I gotta work,” Brock grumbled from behind Darcy’s hair. “Get in on this if you feel neglected, asshole.” Dog had settled at the foot of the bed, so Frank scooted closer to Darcy.

“Spends all his money on hair shit and gym memberships,” Frank muttered. “Like somebody from  _ Jersey Shore.” _

“Hey, that crosses a line,” Brock said. “I am not from Jersey.”

“Ha ha,” Frank said.

“Will you two shut up? I’m beginning to have my doubts about this arrangement,” Darcy said, eyes closed.

“You’re totally breaking up with him, right?” Brock said.

“No, I’m taking the dog and leaving both you assholes for Karen,” Darcy snarked. “She understands naps mean quiet.”


	48. My Ex?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For ibelieveinturtles
> 
> ‘i didn’t want to tell my friend who my real date last night was so i just pointed at a random stranger (you) but now they’re storming over to interrogate you and you’re playing along??? okay’ au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for all your comments and kudos!

“It was  _ bad,”  _ Darcy explained. “He didn’t laugh at my jokes and then when the check came he split it down the middle even though my dinner was twelve dollars and his was twenty eight, so basically, it was bad.”

“What a jerk!” Jane said.  “Still, I’m glad you got out there!” Her voice was bright. Encouraging, even.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy lied. She hadn’t actually gone on the planned date--with a cousin of the barista at the university library where she sometimes copied paywalled articles for Jane--last night. She’d cancelled. But Jane had been telling her that she needed to do something other than stay home, paint elaborate pedicures (Darcy’s toes were currently bedecked with little smiling clouds), and watch reruns of  _ 48 Hours  _ and _ Dateline.  _  So, she’d pretended to go on the date, but instead had gone to a restaurant that wasn’t Jane’s fave, stuffed her face, and watched cat videos on her phone. Jane smiled.

“Maybe you’ll meet someone else,” she said. That gave Darcy ideas. Major ideas. She told Jane that she was going out on another date--this time with a fellow SHIELD employee she’d met. And then she went to the movies. And ate all the peanut M&Ms by herself. It was fantastic. So she kept up the routine for two weeks: she went to the movies, coffee shops, even the aquarium. Other than needing to wear pants, dating yourself was pretty fun.  __

 

“When do I get to meet him?” Jane said.

“Huh?” Darcy said, looking up from her laptop. She was answering Jane’s emails and checking iCal for award nomination dates. Jane didn’t care, but if she won anything, Darcy wanted a sheet cake. “Who?”

“Your new boyfriend!” Jane said. “You seem really happy, but I noticed you’ve been taking it slow, not spent the the night--”

“Oh, yeah,” Darcy said. “Yeah! Well, that’s the thing, see, um, I didn’t realize that he was, um, very religious at first and so, uh, we’ve decided to just be friends. He’s, um, not interested in sex until marriage,” she lied wildly.

“I thought you said he was older than you,” Jane said. Darcy had described him minimally, but she’d been thinking about her crush on, like, Adam Driver. Her fake boyfriend was dark-haired, fit, and traveled a lot, she’d decided. It seemed plausible-ish, with all the fit, brown-haired guys at SHIELD. They were everywhere.

“Yeah, well, I think he was, um, born again or something? You know, after that whole HYDRA Uprising deal, some people really  _ changed.” _

“It seems unfair that he took you on all these dates and didn’t tell you,” Jane insisted.

“He’s shy,” Darcy said desperately. “Really shy.” Wasn’t Adam Driver shy? She was sure she’d read that in a magazine at her hair salon.

“But you had such fun at the aquarium, you sent me those photos he took of you making fish faces at the fish,” Jane said.

“Yup,” Darcy said. She’d almost dislocated her shoulder trying to hide her arm holding the phone, but the photos were really cute. “That was….really fun.”

“Oh, Darce, please don’t be sad,” Jane said. She smiled so sympathetically that Darcy had trouble not giggling.

“I’m okay, really!” Darcy said. “Super okay!” She did a double thumbs up and Jane shook her head.

“He’s a jerk,” she said.

 

Jane was still fuming as they left work that day. “I really want to talk to him.”

“Jane, you can’t,” Darcy said. 

“Why not?” Jane said. Darcy’s brain flailed like one of those blow-up noodle guys outside cheesy car dealerships. 

“I--” Darcy began. She stopped. Jane stopped, looking at her curiously. They were standing in the hallway as one of those STRIKE teams walked by.

“Excuse me,” the lead guy said. He nodded. It was a significant seeming nod. “Miss Lewis, Dr. Foster.” Darcy nodded back, still preoccupied by her problem and desperate for an excuse--any excuse.

“Is that  _ him?”  _ Jane hissed. They’d gotten a few steps away.

“Huh?” Darcy said. “What?”

“Rumlow, he was at that presentation we gave last month! He asked me all those Q&A questions about weaponizing my research and then he dumps you?”

“Errrrr, yeah, yes, that’s him, please, let’s go, this is super awkward,” Darcy said. The STRIKE team and that dude--Darcy had set up the presentation and then texted photos of Steve in the audience to Tony for meme-ification later, she had no idea what had actually happened during the Q&A--were getting on the elevator down the hall. He looked at them. He smiled slowly. The doors shut.

“Did you see him smirk? What an asshole,” Jane said. “I’m catching up with them.” She made for the stairwell.

“Oh God,” Darcy said. “Jane, no, don’t you mongoose sprint  down those stairs!” Jane could be fast when she was mad. She’d cleared two half-flights and was clattering through another door as Darcy followed her into the stairwell.

“Hold that elevator---Rumlow!” Jane yelled as she pushed the next door open.

“Shit, shit,” Darcy muttered. “I just wanted to eat M&Ms alone and see the new  _ Toy Story _ in my comfy pants, dammit!”

 

Darcy peered through the little jail-like window in the metal door. Jane was waving her finger in this dude’s face. His expression was pointedly neutral. Jane waved the finger closer. Darcy decided she had to intervene before this guy lost an eyeball. He probably needed those for work. She stuck her head out. “Ummmm, Jane?” she said. “Please stop. This qualifies as a scene.”

“No, it’s okay,” he said. He rubbed his hair. He was dark haired. Why, oh, why, hadn’t she picked a ginger? If she said her boyfriend was a 6’4 redhead, none of this would have happened. But no. This was her karma? Had she not recycled in a previous life? Spit gum on sidewalks? The STRIKE dude looked at Darcy. “I sort of deserve it, sweetheart. I’m not a good boyfriend, I travel too much,” he said mildly. His expression was unreadable.

“And you didn’t tell her you didn’t want to have sex before marriage!” Jane said. He coughed awkwardly.

“I did not tell her...that,” he said. 

“Jane,” Darcy said. “We should go. People are starting to stare.”

“I’m real sorry, sweetheart,” he said. He watched them as Darcy dragged Jane to the elevator. Darcy looked back and could’ve sworn he winked at her. She got on the elevator and stood there, stunned.

“I cannot believe that just happened,” she said.

“He seemed genuinely regretful that you didn’t work out,” Jane said. “That was a surprise.”

“He’s probably afraid you’ll run him over in the parking garage,” Darcy said.

“No, really,” Jane said. 

“Jane, it wasn’t a big thing,” Darcy said. 

 

She hoped her entire workplace would get collective amnesia about the fourteenth floor shouting match between Rumlow and Jane. Except that it seemed to be getting around work a lot. People kept mentioning it to Darcy and in the oddest way. The barista in the lobby-area coffeeshop, making a sad face: “I’m sorry to hear about your breakup.”

Cameron Klein, when she went to ask about some bit of data that he might be able to get her: “Hey, Darce. I heard Rumlow was taking your breakup really hard. He’s not my favorite person, but that’s too bad.”

Even Maria Hill looked at her sympathetically: ”Your instagrams at the aquarium were really sweet.” Darcy was forced to stutter out baffled thank yous and wonder what was happening. She finally confronted Jane about it. 

“Why are you telling people about my, um, breakup?” she asked Jane.

“I’m not?” Jane said. 

“Oh,” Darcy said. She was staring at her laptop when Jane looked at her.

“Darce!”

“What’s exploding?” Darcy said, alarmed.

“Nothing, but he  _ must regret your breakup,”  _ she said intensely. “He’s the one talking about it. He must be!” Jane said. “You should talk to him, see if he’s having doubts?”

“I dunno,” Darcy said. “It’s sort of....strange? Besides, it’s not like we were serious.”

“But what if he’s decided that he doesn’t want to be celibate until marriage? He really doesn’t seem like a celibacy guy.”

“Nope,” Darcy said. “Definitely not.”   
  
She had plenty of time to think about it, what with all the people bringing it up, and so she was redoing her pedicure when she had a realization and almost dropped the polish brush. “That schmuck!” she said out loud.

“What?” Jane said.

“He’s going around, pretending to be broken-hearted so women will date him, I just realized,” she said. “It’s a good plan? Who’s more sympathetic than a hot guy feeling all wounded and sad?”

“Are you sure you aren’t being too cynical?” Jane said.

“Absolutely not.” 

 

Darcy ran into him in the coffeeshop a week later. “Hey,” he said. “How are you?” His considerate-ex face was flawless.

“Can I have a word?” she said archly.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he said, guiding her over to the nearby seating area. His hand hovered near the small of her back, she noticed. “What can I do?” he said. He raised his coffee cup to his lips.

“Stop using my name to get in people’s pants,” she said, grinning. “You sneaky little man ‘ho.” He spit out his coffee, choking.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re running around, getting sympathy mileage out of a break up that never happened!” she said, laughing. “How many women this week, Agent Hound Dog?” He tilted his head at her, face breaking into a grin. 

“None, sweetheart, I swear,” he said. “I’m still so hung up on you. I couldn’t seriously consider dating anybody else.” His expression was wry. “I mean, if a few weeks down the road, some people offer to have a drink with me, ‘cause I’m still so sad and lonely, well, what’s the harm?”

“Oh my God, you’re Machiavellian!” she said, starting to laugh. “You make me feel like an amateur fabricator of relationships.”

“Why’d you tell her your ex was me? It somebody you’re ashamed to admit to?”

“No, worse, it’s nobody. I wanted her to stop pressuring me to date, so I pretended to be dating and went to the movies. I told her it was a dark-haired guy and that we broke up because he was born again--” Darcy began. Rumlow started to laugh. 

“He couldn’t have a kid who hates you or another woman?”

“I was very happy with my fictional boyfriend, it had to be plausible,” she said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Stop laughing. Anyway, she saw you in the hallway, you spoke to us, it made her think it was you, I said yes, thinking she’d let me slink away, but instead, she chased you down.”

“Very effectively for somebody who doesn’t need to meet the field fitness regs,” he said.

“She’s like a furious mongoose sometimes,” Darcy said. “It’s oddly lovable when it’s directed at other people.”

“I bet so.” He looked at her. Sipped his coffee. Then smiled. He really was astonishingly hot, Darcy realized. He was probably her most impressive ex, all things considered. She told him.    


“You probably haven’t hurt my reputation any, either. And those are good tattoos,” she said. He was in a short-sleeved t-shirt. She’d noticed the intricate tats on the backs of his forearms. The grin got wider. 

“Sweetheart,” he said, leaning in close. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Right.”

“Let’s get back together,” he said. “You and me and that fish at the aquarium? That was a good date. I don’t think I’ve been on a good aquarium date since fifth grade.”

“Did you seriously stalk my insta for backstory?” she said, torn between incredulity and amusement.

“Rollins keeps a fish in his office and I can’t look at little Freddie anymore,” he said dryly. “Makes me too emotional.”

“That is--that is---” she said, trying to find the right word and failing.

“An impressive amount of thoroughness that indicates my overall attention to detail?” he said, eyes lingering over her. “Do the little fish face for me, huh?”   
  
  



	49. He's Kinda Scary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @ibelieveinturtles
> 
> More Fake Ex Prompts: “I’m trying to breakup with someone who is pushy, so you pretend to be my scary intimidating ex”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! 
> 
> I'm back!!! I had a cold that turned into a sinus infection, so I haven't been able to write for feeling awful. I'm trying to get back into my groove with a little bitty fic.

Darcy and Jane were sitting in the SHIELD cafeteria when Darcy’s phone pinged.  _ Ding.  _ Jane was explaining part of the next experiment she wanted to run after lunch to the assembled team of agents, so Darcy didn’t check her phone. Captain America frowned on that kind of stuff and he was sitting across from her. In the next minute, she heard notifications again.  _ Ding. Ding. Ding.  _ “Jeez, Darce, you’re popular,” Steve said. Darcy smiled sheepishly. Steve’s full smile was megawatt.

“Answer it,” Jane told her. 

“You got a hot date, Lewis?” the agent next to her said. Brock Rumlow. He ran STRIKE Alpha. 

“No,” Darcy said, digging around in her purse.

“I thought you were going out with that grad student?” Jane said.

“I cancelled because of your conference trip,” Darcy said. “We’re leaving tomorrow.” Rumlow nodded. Darcy got out her phone and looked at the screen. Without meaning to, her mouth dropped open. They were all texts from her ostensible date, Dave the grad student. Ugly texts. She’d sent what she thought was a polite request to reschedule and he’d responded with a torrent of abusive messages calling her a slut who led guys on. Horrified, Darcy stared at the screen, then realized Rumlow had stopped talking and was peering over her shoulder. His face had gone blank. 

“Who the fuck is that?” he said. 

“I cancelled a date with him. We won’t be rescheduling,” Darcy said bitterly. Rumlow took the phone out of her hand smoothly. She looked at Jane. “He got nasty.” 

“Ugh,” Jane said. “Block him.” Steve was frowning.

“Nasty?” he said blankly.

“Sometimes, you break a date, a guy spews venom at you, Cap,” Darcy said.

“Why?” Steve said. 

“Because men are pigs,” Jane said.

“What’d he say?” Steve said, looking from Darcy to Rumlow.

“It’s not language you’d like, Rogers,” Rumlow told him.

“He called me a cunt,” Darcy said at the same time. Steve went pale, then stern.

“Who is this man?” he said, looking all square-jawed, all of a sudden. It was Darcy’s first sighting of Captain America’s Poster Face. She was impressed.

“I got the number,” Rumlow said. “Klein’s getting me an address, I thought I’d pay him a visit, make sure he don’t bother you no more.”

“If you need backup,” Steve began. Rumlow nodded. Darcy’s head swiveled from one man to another like she was watching a tennis match.

“What’s happening?” she said.

“I wouldn’t worry about it, darl,” Jack Rollins told her wryly. “Don’t expect you’ll be hearing from him.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. She looked at Jane. Jane shrugged. “Okay,” Darcy repeated. This was a perk of working for SHIELD that she hadn’t anticipated. 

 

She and Jane left for the conference the next day. 

  
  


***

There was a heavy footfall in the hallway outside the grad student offices in the Department of Biology. Dave Smith looked up as a man in black tactical gear walked in, arching his chin and looking slightly pained. Or aggrieved. His expression was difficult to read. “Dave Smith?” he said. He looked to be about forty.

“This room is for grad TAs--” Dave began, but stopped when the guy fixed him with a cold stare. 

“I’m here to speak with you,” he said. “I’m with SHIELD.”

“Oh,” Dave said. “How can I help you?”  The man pulled a chair from one of the computer stations and straddled it, muscles moving fluidly. He sighed.

“Dave,” he said. “Dave, Dave, Dave. We got a problem, pal.” He drummed on the back of the chair. There were large tattoos on his arms, Dave noticed. He also hadn’t introduced himself. Weren’t they supposed to do that? There was a gun and a taser visible at his hip. 

“Has there been a theft?” Dave offered. Sometimes, people broke in, stole equipment. Stuff like that. 

“Yeah, Dave, there’s been a theft,” he said, grimacing. “A serious theft.” Abruptly, he started to chuckle. “You know what you did, Dave?”

“I--I didn’t do anything,” Dave stuttered.

“Bullshit, Dave.”

“No, no.”

“Don’t you fucking lie to me like that,” he said sharply. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dave said. 

“We’ve been together for four fucking years, Dave. Four years!” the man yelled.

“Wh--what?”

“Me and my girl. Only she keeps getting the idea that I’m a little too over protective and she wants to take a break. I say, okay, fine. I’m trying to prove I can change, you know? Give her that space. I don’t fucking like it, but I’ll do it--”

“Okay,” Dave said.

“And then this morning, she calls me, she’s all upset, she won’t tell me why. She just needs some help with security, she says. And I know”--he pointed a finger down, stabbing the air--”I know she’s been crying, I can tell. And then I find your name on her phone. Your name, Dave. Who are you?” he said.

“Uhh,” Dave said. “Who’s your, um, girlfriend?”

“No, no fucking way. Don’t play me like that. You know I’m here about Darcy, Dave.” He stressed the last word. “She deleted your messages. Why would she do that, huh?”

“Oh God,” Dave said. “Oh God.”

“What have you done, you pasty fuckwit?” he said. 

“I was rude,” Dave admitted slowly. “She cancelled a date and I was rude. I--I didn’t mean to say those things.” He felt genuine terror. He looked at the man opposite him. 

“You were rude, huh?”

“Yes, yes I was,” Dave said, swallowing.

“Well, I tell you what, Dave, here’s what we’re going to do,” he said, pulling out his phone. “You are going to tell Darcy you’re sorry, you’re going to delete her number, and you’re going to leave her alone. And I’m going to get verified proof of that on my phone, we clear?”

“Y--yeah,” Dave said. 

 

***

In a conference room at a hotel in Florida, Darcy got another notification. She was almost afraid to look at it. But it was from a number she didn’t recognize. When she opened the video file, she heard Brock Rumlow’s voice and saw Dave’s pale face--

“What do you say, Dave?”

“I’m very, very sorry---” Dave stuttered. Darcy started to giggle and had to clap her hand over her mouth. She laughed for several minutes, then texted Rumlow a thank you note.

 

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Amazing. Thank you. A+ in terror and intimidation

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE-Alpha:** You feel like having dinner with me when you get back?

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Ooooh, an ulterior motive!

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE-Alpha:** Guilty 

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Yes.

 

They kept up a text flirtation for several days of the conference. She ooh’d over his gym selfies. He laughed at her photos of herself dozing off during panel talks. It was even funnier when he sent her a pouty-faced selfie about getting ready for their date with a fresh haircut.

 

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** I think Dave would be less scared of you if he’d seen this.

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE-Alpha:** Oh no, what will I do?

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE-Alpha:** I’m a happy guy, a normal guy

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE-Alpha:** I like poetry

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** Cut it out, you don’t like poetry as much as you like hitting things

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE-Alpha:**  this hurts me

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** name one sonnet!

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE-Alpha:** Shakespeare

**World’s Okayest Assistant:** that’s a hundred sonnets, you cheat.

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE-Alpha:** all, right. Italian one. I love uncertain gestures by Magrelli [link]

 

“Jane!” Darcy said, when the panel ended, “I’m in trouble.”

“What famous academic did you insult today?”

“I did not, besides it was totally an accident that I told that Swedish professor emeritus on your panel that the waffle bar at the hotel was the high point of my day, all right?” she said. “He agreed with me about the waffles. This is a Rumlow problem.”

“Did he beat up Dave?” Jane asked.

“No, he’s posting shirtless instas and then sending me this Valerio Magrelli poem and I don’t know what to do!” Darcy said. Jane narrowed her eyes and studied the Instagram photo.

“Was it a good poem?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “It was a good poem.”

“Sleep with him, I want to be an aunt someday.”

“That’s not helpful,” Darcy said.

“I don’t have time to be pregnant, it has to be you,” Jane said. “And he’d make attractive, fit offspring. Let me see the poem?”

“Oh my God, so not helpful!” Darcy said. Then she flicked on her phone. “Here, this one.”

“It’s a good poem,” Jane agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem!  
> https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=37612


	50. Reception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For winchesterxgirl:  
> “Stop posting pictures of them. My feed has been flooded with their face.”  
> https://witterprompts.tumblr.com/post/185659303879/youre-asking-me-to-give-you-a-hand-in-something
> 
> This one is also based on this post: https://yespumpkindoodlesthings.tumblr.com/post/185540855943/no-but-seriously-i-need-answers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! This was in my drafts for awhile and I'm not sure how I feel about it? I'd written the first scenes and then the narrative kinda went strange (i.e., wildly implausible) on me...I blame it on seeing Frank Grillo play a creepy biker in "Homefront" recently.

“This is a wedding,” Darcy told him. 

“So?” he said, She had overheard him joking around with one of the other SHIELD triple agents about this marriage not lasting. They were side by side at the wedding reception bar, so she wanted him to know he’d been overheard.

“So, try to be a decent person, if not a nice one,” Darcy said. She flicked her eyes over his expression. There was no reaction. Not visibly.

“I’m never nice,” Rumlow said. He turned and walked away. Darcy shrugged, watched him go, and got in the dance line with Phil Coulson and Princess Shuri. _Whatever,_ she thought. She wasn’t going to let his homophobia or his issues ruin Steve and Bucky’s wedding. Darcy didn’t think about him at all for the rest of the night.

 

She’d agreed to house-sit for the newlyweds. Bucky’s recovery therapy involved having routines and one of them was plants. Steve didn’t want them to die on the honeymoon because then Bucky might be upset. Darcy had volunteered to water them in a moment of misguided compassion, forgetting that she could kill ground cover. She was double checking the water requirements for Bucky’s fern a few nights later when someone started weeping and beating on the window. “Barnes!” they were yelling. Loudly. Darcy got up. She peered out the window.

“Rumlow?”  She opened it.

“What the fuck you doing here? Where’s Barnes?” the STRIKE commander asked. He swayed like a willow in the breeze. If the breeze carried tequila.

“On his honeymoon?” Darcy said. “I’m just the plant watering person?” She felt doubtful. “Why are you here?”

“I wanna talk to him,” he said, sounding maudlin. Darcy was concerned he was too drunk to drive, so she did something Jane would have called dumb: she invited him in.

“Talk to me?” she offered, when she unlocked the front door. He was clinging to the doorframe. “I’ll make you coffee, let you crash here.”

“Okay,” he said, hiccuping. She was making coffee when he started to babble. “He left me!” Rumlow said.

“Who?”

“Barnes,” he snorted. “I thought we had something special, him and me. I rescued him, you know that? I thought we’d have a life together—and—and he gets out and leaves me for Cap!”

“You had sex with Bucky?!” she said, astounded.

“No, no,” Rumlow said, gesturing in frustration. He waved his hands a lot, she realized, as she dodged a muscular arm. “It wasn’t some cheap sex thing. He—he used to look at me, I would look at him. We spent hours in that damn fucking vault. One time he touched my hand with his metal arm—”

“Oooh, how Victorian,” Darcy said. Rumlow seemed not to notice.

“I fell in love with him,” he was saying, “the first time I saw him. He was so beautiful and _hurt.”_

She nodded. Darcy could see it. Bucky Barnes was the kind of guy you wanted to wrap in a Snuggie and bring hot cocoa.

“I just wanted to take care of him,” Rumlow said. Then he started to really ugly-cry as he confided more. This was really a complication. Apparently, Rumlow’s wooing of Bucky had been so subtle, it hadn’t even registered. “I shaved him and did his Asset camouflage makeup and he don’t remember,” he whispered.

“Oh no,” she said. Rumlow nodded, still crying. Darcy treated it just like one of Jane’s science meltdowns: she gave him a tissues and blanket, patted him gently as he blew his nose, and sighed at his snoring, tear-stained face once he’d passed out. Dumping his coffee in the sink, she wondered what he’d remember in the morning.

 

A lot, as it turned out. She was making coffee when he walked silently into the kitchen. “Ahhhh!” she screamed and jumped involuntarily, sloshing her mug. “Don’t do that, I’m easily startled,” she said reflexively.

“You always so jumpy?” he asked, tearing off a paper towel and wiping up her spill.

“Yes,” she said. “I jumped once when my tenth grade history teacher shut a drawer and he asked if I was abused as a child.” He blinked at her.

“Did somebody hurt you?” he asked, frowning.

“No,” she said. “I’m pretty sure it’s just genetic, my aunt Debbie is the same. She jumps when she knows it’s you in a Halloween costume. One time, I scared her by coming down the hallway in one of my grandmother’s church dresses and saying ‘woo.’ I mean, I’d had a little wine, but it was clearly me. We were cleaning out her house after she moved to the assisted living.”

“Yeah.”

“Coffee?” Darcy offered. He nodded.

“Yeah. Black.” 

“Here you go,” she said. “That was easy. I had to fight my way through the fridge to find the half and half. They keep things pretty high,” she explained. “Can’t reach the shelf.” Strangers and silence always made Darcy a little nervous. After a second, he sighed.

“Listen, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention me being here to anybody,” he said. “Everybody.”

“Of course,” Darcy said. She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about it, Rumlow.” He looked at her, eyes watching her face. His expression was strangely cryptic.

“Brock,” he said.

“Hmm?”

“My first name is Brock,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, nodding. He wanted to be a first name basis now? She supposed that made sense. “Well, I’m going to water the plants and run some errands for Jane,” she explained. He nodded.  

“I’ll walk you out,” he said. 

“You don’t have to,” she said. He shook his head and waited while she watered all the plants. She caught him sighing over his phone.

“What is it?” she asked carefully.

“Eh,” he shrugged. “I’m repressing the urge to yell, stop posting pictures of them, my feed’s full of photos of Cap’s wedding.” Darcy frowned.

“Bad, huh?” she said.

“I’ve lived through worse,” he said. As she was watering, he told her about his burns and being patched up by Helen Cho. Once she was ready, he walked her out to her car. 

“I, uh, hope you feel better,” she told him. It was awkward, but she wanted to say something to acknowledge that he was probably having a bad time. He was going to be working with Steve while he pined over Bucky. It sounded depressing as heck. 

“Thanks,” he said, looking away. He looked at her. “Are you, uh, hungry?”

“Hmmm?” she said, surprised.

“Can I take you to breakfast?” he offered. “You’ve listened to me whine.”

“Sure,” she said, even more surprised. They had a nice breakfast. He was funny, even charming. She didn’t understand why she was there, though. But she tried to be kind. He walked her and her leftover waffles to her car. 

“Thanks,” he said.

“I had fun,” she said. She gave him a brief, gentle hug and hopped in her car and drove away. Her last glimpse of him was Rumlow jogging to an SUV. She tried to quash the feeling that she wished he would stop by the lab. That’s stupid, she scolded herself. He’s not even straight. And even if he did date women--no. She wouldn’t finish the thought.  

 

***

Only she kept running into him at work: passing him the hallways, seeing him at lunch, finding him in the break room, leaning photogenically against the counter. “Hey,” she said, when she turned the corner and met his eyes unexpectedly.

“Hey,” he said. “Everything okay?”

“Yup,” Darcy said, feeling wildly awkward. _Could you not blush,_ she told herself. So what if he had a really good lean? Those forearms, she thought, then shook it away. “So, anything new with you?” she said. She tried to be brighter than she felt, giving him a big smile. He smiled back.

“Big undercover job coming up,” he said. 

“Oooh, do you get to pretend to be a rich person and hunt a casino for terrorists like James Bond?” she asked. He shook his head. 

“No, uh, something a little different,” he said. “I do need a wife, though. Did you want to come along? Pretend to be my old lady?” He was grinning wryly. Darcy felt a jolt of anxiety. He knew! He knew she thought he was cute. Shit! He’d probably busted her staring at his--well, his everything. Panicking, she wondered how to play this. She said the first thing that came into her mind.

“Oh, sure,” she said jokingly. “We see each other everyday, it’s a perfect fit.” He smirked at her. She filled her coffee a little nervously. “People normally think I’m married to Jane, so this might be a nice change--I don’t have to remind you to eat, sleep, and shower, do I?” she continued, trying to play it cool.

“Nope,” he said.

“Okey dokey,” she said. “I’ll see you, hubby.” He looked like he wanted to say something else and that made her panic slightly. She hurried off back to the lab, travel mugs clacking together. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” 

“What is it?” Jane said, when she walked in, still muttering.

“I am a doofus sometimes,” Darcy said. “I don’t know what’s wro---” Her email dinged and Darcy’s mouth dropped open. “Fuckdoodles!” she yelled.

“What is it?” Jane repeated, more seriously, actually turning away from her work and making eye contact.

“I have somehow signed up to be Rumlow’s fake wife for a mission this weekend?” Darcy said, her voice going up in alarm.

“Who?” Jane said, furrowing her brow.

“Rumlow!” Darcy said, wishing she had been selfish enough to disclose everything to Jane. But no. She’d kept Rumlow’s secret. Like a big dumbass. “STRIKE Alpha? All hot, but recently heartbroken, I heard,” she muttered. Darcy sighed.

“You like him!” Jane squealed, pointing.

“He’s gay,” she said.

“Oh.” Jane deflated. “Boo. Well, not boo at being gay, but you know what I mean--”

“What did I even sign up for? It says I need to go down to the ninth floor for my requisitioned work clothes--I thought he was joking, Jane!” Darcy said.

“Can I go with you? To see the clothes?” Jane asked.

“Sure.” Darcy sighed again. Jane cackled. 

“Goody,” Jane said. “This is going to be fun.”

 

“I can’t believe I’m wearing this,” Darcy grumbled into her helmet. She reached down to wiggle her shirt up over her bra. They were stopped at a red light on the back of a motorcycle somewhere near College Park, Maryland. Rumlow was pretending to deal drugs or something and they were meeting someone about fenced weapons that had once been SHIELD’s. There were several other agents on bikes, too: Rollins, Romanoff, Barton. Bucky Barnes in an unmarked van at the back.

“Don’t let go of me,” Rumlow said, half turning back to her. His face was obscured by his vizor, but his tone was serious.

“I’m afraid a boob is going to pop out,” Darcy complained. On her comms device--their  helmets were all linked and there was an earpiece in her ear--Darcy distinctly heard Clint snicker. “Shut up, Clint,” she whispered, resettling her arms around Rumlow’s waist. His stupidly muscular waist. How had she been talked into this? And also, should she be insulted that he’d imagined her as this character? The waistband of her too-tight jeans squeezed her belly, her low cut shirt was somehow edging up and down simultaneously, and her eyes were ringed with enough eyeshadow for four women. Rumlow had actually added more with his own hands, despite her objections that nobody wore that much eyeshadow. Clint had been calling her Rocket Raccoon. She looked, well, trashy.  

“You don’t have to say anything, just stand there,” Rumlow reminded her. “Darcy?”

“Okay,” she said, realizing he was checking in.

 

They ended up at some skeevy dive bar. She got off the bike with a stumble and he grabbed her elbow. “Don’t trip, bitch,” he said in a new voice she hadn’t heard before. Harsher. Rougher. It made her pull back instinctively. He moved his hand down and grasped hers. Squeezed gently without appearing to look at her. She followed him inside, head down, glancing from side to side from underneath her hair. Darcy was standing centrally, flanked by trained agents: Jack Rollins and Sharon Carter looked murderous and bored respectively, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton snagged beers with seeming effortlessness. They waited for someone to approach. She’d been told to pretend to be a little afraid of pissing him off by drawing anyone else’s attention. She didn’t know how to do that, though, so she just trailed him and looked at her feet. That seemed right. The easiest thing was just to stand half behind him, holding onto his arm and listening as he talked. Bullshitted, she realized. He and the guy he was meeting exchanged greetings. “Hey, motherfucker,” Brock said. “What you got for me?”

“Good news,” the other guy said. “Real good news.”

“Let’s hear it,” Brock said. The seller turned, followed by two other men. They tromped to the back of the building, went outside, and were standing in a darkened parking lot when he popped the trunk of his car. Brock grinned.

“Whaddya think?” the guy said. They bargained--Darcy’s heart raced---for a few seconds before Brock stepped forward, blocking her a little. She noticed Natasha moved closer to her.

“Yeah, okay,” Rumlow said. “Gotcha.” That was the signal they were buying the weapons. Darcy waited for something to happen. 

 

Nothing happened.

 

They paid the guy with cash from a bag and loaded the weapons into the van. Rollins, Barton, and Romanoff did most of the heavy lifting while Brock talked shit about guns and bikes with the seller out front. He kept Darcy at his hip, hand firmly anchored at the small of her back. She was wildly nervous. For sure Brock could tell she was sweating. “You want a drink, honey?” the seller guy said to her. She looked at Brock before nodding. 

“She don’t talk much,” Brock said, snickering. “Spends all her time on that fucking makeup.”

“I can talk, though,” Darcy said. She was surprised at how pathetic her voice sounded. The tension in her body meant it sounded high and tentative. A mouse voice. She swallowed, trying to settle herself, get to a more normal register. Darcy curved her shoulders in and looked away, thinking _holy shit, what I am doing right now?_   She was terrified her nervousness would somehow give her away, mess up the whole thing.         

“I raised this one right,” Rumlow said, almost casually. “You gotta catch ‘em young enough they don’t get bad habits, like talking back or thinking they know better.” He laughed. It was a kind of harsh sound. The hand on her hip made circles, thumb digging gently into her low back, and she leaned against his shoulder, letting herself curl in. They stayed like that for thirty minutes. The guns were driven away. Darcy briefly glimpsed Bucky behind the wheel of the van. Nat and Clint came and sat next to them. It was all very surreal.

“What the hell was that?” Darcy yelled under her helmet when they’d driven a safe distance away. She had her arms around his waist again.

“Hey, I’m sorry--” he began.

“I thought you were going to arrest him! Where was the SWAT team and the flashing lights?” she cut in. “We just sat there!”

“No,” he said, chuckling. “My job was getting the stuff back. Someone can pick him up later, once he won’t suspect us, but this is a long term thing. Did you think I’d actually take you into something dangerous?” He sounded incredulous---and amused. 

 

“I don’t get why I was even there,” Darcy said to Jane that night. But he kept requesting her for overtime on these weird local projects: there was meeting someone in a park, picking up the contents of safety deposit box at a bank, and being passed a flash drive at a local coffee shop. She finally decided it was that he could pretend to be talking to her while he was talking over comms. She was like a beard. A mostly quiet, fake-passive sort of beard. Clint filled her in: the teams were usually two-person. Apparently, he’d once been paired with Sharon for missions, but Sharon had difficulty hiding her natural shrewdness. She mostly ran her own ops with Rollins now, because Rollins was laidback enough that they didn’t bicker. Clint joked that she and Brock both tried to run the operations when they were paired together and that Fury and Hill had been afraid they’d shoot each other. “But that’s why he needs me around?” Darcy asked.

“You’re pretty good at not calling attention to yourself,” Clint told her.

“Yeah, I’m a natural-born sidekick,” Darcy said dryly. “I still don’t see how it makes me useful.”

“Upping the ratio of women to men looks more natural,” Clint explained. “Too few women cops. It means that groups of men tend to be suspected of being police.”

“Oh.” 

“Also, I think you look believable as a biker’s old lady,” Clint teased.

“Shut up,” Darcy told him. But it was good to know. It helped her relax to know that they weren’t going to be doing anything too dangerous. She concentrated on being more believable.  Darcy got good at looking downtrodden and clinging to him. The clinging was fun. She got to stick to his biceps like a snail on a tank. Or wrap her arms around his waist. Generally, she pretended to be so pathologically shy or bullied that she would half stand behind him, chin tucked against his shoulder, rather than interacting much. He had devised an array of oily nicknames for Darcy, starting with a flinty _sweetheart_ and escalating to a bitter, patronizing _princess_ that he deployed whenever he wanted to seem particularly gross. Fake responding to these jabs, Darcy would duck her head, shuffle, and mumble _sorry_ half-intelligibly. They worked it out as a weird routine without discussing it too much. Brock didn’t seem to mind; he complimented her on her intuitive acting. Natasha didn’t respond to their role-playing beyond a smile; Bucky winked at her; Steve looked troubled, then relieved once Bucky told him that Darcy was just pretending to be a doormat after an item hand-off at the mall. They’d gone back to headquarters. Steve had come over to ask if she needed anything.

“It’s my best role, Stevie,” she said. “I’m good at this and I don’t even need to fix my hair.” She adjusted the shirt she was wearing so the scoop neck was higher and started looking for her eye makeup remover pads.

“Is that important?” Steve said.

“Punk don’t get haircare maintenance,” Bucky said tenderly and it made Darcy laugh--and then feel a pang for Brock. They hadn’t talked about his feelings for Bucky again. She shuffled over to him and attached herself to his arm. He was standing near the coffee pot.

“Coffee?” he asked.

“Please,” she said, muffling her mouth against his sleeve.  He smiled briefly over his shoulder.

 

Clint started jokingly calling her Nell, after that Jodie Foster movie, but she just shot him the bird. Clint was mouthing “hey, Nell” across the lab at her one day and she was flipping him off when Jane caught them. That made Clint explain it. In detail. He made Darcy be Brock while he mimicked Darcy’s clinging. Darcy elbowed him.

“So, you just barnacle on Brock?” Jane asked, eyes wide. Darcy hadn’t admitted that she was feeling Rumlow up.

“She’s a barnacle!” Clint said, joyous with laughter. “That’s better than Nell, Foster. You are a genius.”

“Shut your faces,” Darcy grumbled, trying not to grin like an idiot. “I’m great at my overtime job.” She was paying off her student loans faster and he smelled really nice; she didn’t want to quit.

 

“You really want to keep doing that?” Jane asked, once Clint left. “You’re just clinging to a hot, unavailable man for money.”

“Yeah, hello, it’s the best job ever,” Darcy said. “Other people would pay me for that job. I could sublet my job for more money, no probs.” 

“But what about your feelings?” Jane asked. Darcy shrugged. She could cope with being a little dopey about him as long it didn’t get awkward.

“Are they going to get better if I quit?” she said.

“Probably not,” Jane said.

“So, I’m going to keep doing it,” Darcy said. “It can’t possibly hurt him, can it? And you’ve seen my student loan balance.”

“Yeah,” Jane said. They were quiet.

“Am I making excuses?”

“As excuses go, yours aren’t terrible.”

“You said that to Thor!” Darcy said.

“Still applies.”

 

She was tired one weekend, but she didn’t want to say no to work or to him, so she agreed to accompany him to a bar meet up. “You look sleepy,” he said. 

“No,” she insisted. She got a fractional grin in response.

“Yeah, you are,” Brock said. 

“I’m okay,” Darcy said. Then her body betrayed her and she yawned. They were waiting for the person to show up for the meeting. 

“C’mere,” he said, pulling her into his lap on his side of the table. His fingers kneaded her shoulders. 

“Thanks,” she groaned out. She had knots beneath one shoulder blade from hunching over helping Jane work on some equipment. He pressed in with his thumbs on the tension and she rolled her head back, pressed her weight into his hands. “Uhhhhhhhhh.” 

“I been working you too hard?” he said. This was his trademark sleazy character voice.

“Or not hard enough,” she sassed back, just for anyone listening on comms. She turned her head so her hair would get in his eyes. He laughed. 

“She finally talks back,” he whispered, leaning so close that she could feel his breath ghosting over her ear.  Darcy shivered. “Cold?” he said. 

“Maybe,” she said. She wasn’t actually cold, but it was a plausible enough excuse for what was happening with her nipples. She expected him to offer her his jacket. He didn’t. Instead, he ran his hands down her arms slowly. His thumbs dragged down to the point of her elbow, then stroked back up again. She had to resist the urge to squirm pleasantly in his lap, positioned dangerously over one thigh. Darcy sighed. His hands moved to her back. She was relaxing when Natasha cruised past the table, clad in a waitress’s uniform.

“You look very cozy,” she said, looking smug. She set down a few drinks and a basket of fries. “Clint said you were probably hungry?” Her tone was arch, but Darcy was distracted by Natasha’s clothes.

“I didn’t know  you even owned plain khakis,” Darcy said, puzzled. They were baggy and unflattering. 

“They’re mine. She’s wearing my pants,” Clint’s voice cracked over comms. Darcy snorted, then ate a fry as Nat glided away. Brock was still rubbing her back. 

“French fry?” she offered.

“He don’t eat that,” Clint said in her ear. Brock took a french fry over her shoulder and Darcy’s eyes widened. She turned to look back at him. 

“It’s Saturday night,” Brock said, shrugging.

“Feeling wild?” she joked. “What next, some cheese? Maybe even chocolate? What if you go completely insane and have a chocolate milkshake?”

“Very funny,” he said, leaning over to swipe another fry. His chest pressed against her back. His other arm went around her waist. “I hear you making fun of me. Besides, I don’t like chocolate, I lik---here he is,” he said, voice shifting from playfulness to seriousness when he spotted the person they were waiting for. “Slide over,” he told Darcy, back in STRIKE mode. He always liked her to be on the outside edge, so she could bolt if necessary. Darcy slid over. Jack Rollins was sitting directly behind them, too. He was looking murderous and pretending she didn’t register to his gaze, but she knew he was watching.    

 

The meet was going badly, Darcy realized, within a minute or so. It was something about the guy’s eyes she didn’t trust. He was crafty. Under the table, Brock had his legs canted to physically shove her if he needed to. That worried her. She didn’t want him distracted. “I need to pee,” she announced in her whiniest voice. 

“Go,” Brock said. “Quit whining.” His leg shoved her a little. You might mistake it for rudeness.

“Women,” the guy said, eyeing Darcy’s cleavage as she bounced up. 

“She’s fucking lucky she’s pretty, because that fucking whining gets on my last nerve,” Brock cracked.

“I’ll take her off your hands, pal---” the guy was saying as Darcy hurried to the bathroom. She intersected with Nat on her way. 

“Sketchy,” she said quietly. “Bad feeling.” Nat nodded and her eyes went dark.

 

Darcy had made it to the bathroom when the noise started. First, yelling, then some gunshots. Darcy climbed into a stall farthest from the door and waited, taking deep breaths. _Don’t panic, don’t panic,_ her brain said. _Everyone’s okay._ The silence seemed ominous, but Brock had told her to wait if they were ever in this situation. “You want a gunman to leave,” he’d said to her sternly. “So keep still and quiet, all right?” She’d agreed. But it was easier to promise it than it was to do it, when you were worried someone might be bleeding out feet away. She was shaking inside the stall when someone came in. Darcy felt her heart leap. 

“Darcy?” Nat said. 

“Nat!” She bolted out and actually hugged Nat. “Oh, thank God, is everyone okay?” Darcy said.

“Yes,” Nat said. “Or I was.” Darcy was squeezing her.

“Sorry, I’m not cut out for this---where’s Brock?”

“Outside,” Nat said. 

“I’m gonna--gonna go--” Darcy said, not quite understanding what she was saying.

“Yes,” Nat said, nodding and smiling.

 

She found Brock standing outside with Fury. “You’re hurt!” she said, agitated. There was a bruise blossoming on his cheek. Some blood on his shirt.

“I’m fine. Not my blood. But I’m retiring you from active duty,” Brock said, voice wry.

“Oh, yeah,” Darcy said. “I’m really not cut out for this part of the thing.”

“No, you’re good--” Brock began, before Darcy realized Fury was staring at them. 

“I thought she was doing tech support? I’ve been paying Lewis to play agent?” Fury said. He looked ready to throw out a motherfucker at the news.

“You didn’t--?” Darcy said. She looked at Brock.

“It was a support role,” he said mildly.

“Lewis, go sit with Barton,” Fury told her. Brock jerked his chin in that direction. She nodded. 

“Okay.” Darcy shuffled over to Clint. She sat down next to him on the back edge of an SUV. She wiggled under the blanket he’d borrowed. He handed her a Diet Coke.  “Am I in major trouble?” she said.

“Probably,” Clint said. “You just gotta lay low for awhile, Fury’ll forget about it. Eventually.”

“Oh.”

“I know this from experience,” Clint said. Darcy opened her Diet Coke. 

“Does Brock like me?” she asked. She hadn’t realized Fury didn’t know. 

“Is the pope Catholic?” he said.

“That feels like a liturgical question beyond my experience,” Darcy said. She watched Fury read Brock what appeared to be the riot act. She was too far away to hear.

“What about bears in the woods?” Clint cracked. Darcy slurped and raised an eyebrow.

“Why doesn’t he just ask me on a date?” she wondered, musing on his sexuality. She’d assumed he didn’t mind her climbing him like a tree because he felt no attraction to women. Maybe he was just platonically fond?

“Maybe he’s shy, maybe he wants to expense your French fries, the man’s an enigma,” Clint said. “Total fucking smartass ninety-nine percent of the time, though.”

“Huh,” Darcy said. “Interesting.” She was thinking about it when Brock came over.

“You okay?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said. “Will you drive me home?” She practically heard Clint’s eye roll.

“Yeah,” Brock said.

 

They were stopped at a light when he sighed. “I shouldn’t have gotten you involved,” he said, in that same calm voice. 

“But I was having fun,” Darcy objected. He grimaced.

“There was gunfire.”

“My real job has aliens and the strong possibility that I’ll get sucked into a portal somehow,” she pointed out.

“I don’t like that,” he said.

“What do you like?” she asked playfully. 

“No idea,” he said in a flat tone. As they drove, he tapped the wheel.

“Okay,” Darcy said, unwilling to prod. He was sensitive, obviously. And his relationships were his business. She shouldn’t push. She sighed.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m going to miss this,” Darcy said softly. “Sticking to you like static cling.” He smiled gently.

“You weren’t like that.”

“No?”

“Nope,” he said. “No, uh, painful shocks.”

“Oh,” she said. He dropped her off at her apartment. She leaned over to hug him before she got out of the car. He seemed to freeze for a second, then restart. His fingers pressed into the small of her back and he held on for a beat. “Don’t do anything crazy,” she told him. 

“Yeah,” he said. 

“Okay,” she said, when he let her go. She looked back at him for a second before she climbed out of the car. She’d see him at work, she thought. “I’ll see you at work,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah.” She realized he stayed parked until she got inside. She watched him pull away from the window, then called Jane to say her second job was over.

 

Several days later, she and Jane were having a margaritas and Netflix marathon to cheer Darcy up when Jane stood to start the blender again. “Uh, Darce?” she said, pausing by the window.

“Are we out of something?” Darcy said.

“No. There’s someone’s car parked outside,” Jane said. “Come look.” Darcy--toenails wet with nailpolish--shuffled carefully to the window. She peered out, then squinted. Was it? It couldn’t--but it looked like…She picked up the phone and dialed. 

“Hello?” a voice said.

“You could come inside, Jane’s here,” she said.

“Shit,” he said. “I, uh--”

“We have margaritas,” Darcy said. She looked at Jane and mouthed his name.

“And air popped popcorn!” Jane yelled.

“Yeah,” Brock said. “I’ll be right there.” He hung up. Darcy looked at the phone.

“He just said he’ll be right there and hung up,” she said, befuddled.

“He misses you.” 

“Nuh-uh, Jane.”

“He does! It’s obvious.”

“He likes boys. Pretty boys. Prettier than me,” Darcy grumbled. Bucky was pretty.

“That doesn’t mean he can’t miss you. I miss you when you’re gone,” Jane pointed out. There was a soft knock at the door. Darcy went to open it. He was leaning against the doorframe.

“I’m, uh, sorry,” he said. “Didn’t mean to scare you or, uh, upset you.”

“Not upset,” Darcy said. “Come in.” He followed her inside. 

“Margarita?” Jane said. 

“Sure,” he said. To Darcy, he added, “just finished a job. It’s been a long week.”

“Well, go sprawl on the couch,” she told him. “Take your coat off, stay awhile. You want popcorn? Jane likes healthy popcorn, for some reason.”

“Because it’s not rubbery,” Jane called.

“Sure,” he said.

“Shoes, too,” Darcy called, walking carefully into the kitchen. She didn’t want to dislodge the cotton between her toes. “Get comfy.” 

“Yeah,” she heard him say.

 

They came back with the drinks and popcorn and Darcy decided just to try something. She handed Brock his margarita and then curled up next to him like a cat. He didn’t freeze. She pretended it was all very chill, but she caught Jane wagging her eyebrows. Darcy crossed her eyes. She and Jane were making funny faces at each other when she suddenly felt Brock pull her into his lap.

“Missed you at work,” he said quietly. “What are we watching?” 

“Nailed It,” Jane said.

“It’s so fun,” Darcy said. 

 

Somewhere between a disastrous baking tableau and the last episode, he fell asleep on Darcy’s couch. When he started to snore, Jane grinned. “He’s attached to you,” she said. “Possibly literally.” Her eyes trailed down to Brock’s arm at Darcy’s waist.

“Pffhhhht,” Darcy said. She shifted and his grip on her tightened.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jane said.

“Am not.”

“Are too!”

“Can you get more popcorn? He’s got a grip like a boa constrictor,” Darcy admitted. Jane laughed for five minutes. 

“I can’t believe you’re pretending this is normal,” Jane whispered, when she came back.

“Well, uh, I should tell you that he once got drunk and told me he was in love with this guy who didn’t notice,” Darcy whispered back. “So…I mean, we haven’t talked about it since or his preferences or anything.” She shrugged around Brock’s embrace.

“Just don’t let him leave the apartment,” Jane said crisply. “Then you can keep him.”

“I’m not going full _Misery_ ,” Darcy said. She crinkled her nose. 

“It worked for Kathy Bates,” Jane cracked.

“Nobody is breaking my legs,” Brock said suddenly, eyes still closed. “And for the record, I’m bisexual.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. He cracked one eye open. 

“I’m not leaving the couch,” he said, rubbing her belly. His voice was soft. Then he closed his eye again. “You don’t need to chain me to the bed, but I won’t stop you,” he said, more casually. Jane snorted.

“Oh,” Darcy repeated. “Are we dating now?”

“Yes,” he said, not moving. Darcy looked at Jane with big eyes. She was trying to process all of the fake intimacy they’d been in at once. Had she actually pretended to suck on his neck in a biker bar once?!

“What is happening?” she mouthed. Brock started to snore.

“Told you!” Jane whispered. “If I hadn’t said Kathy Bates--” 

“You are a terrible influence. Do we have M&Ms?” Darcy said, snuggling against Brock more. 

“Yes,” Jane said. “Unless Thor ate them. I’ll look.” 

“May Frigga bless you,” Darcy said. Then she shifted to look at Brock. He had slumped sideways onto the couch. His eyelashes were dark against his cheekbones and his hair fell across his forehead. He was breathing slowly. But there was something upsetting. She peered at the marks on his arms and the scratches on his hands. “Did you hit somebody?” she asked, rubbing his arm.

“Had to break down a door,” he murmured sleepily. “Wood splintered and then the poor kid hostage hung onto me like a cat, he was so terrified.”

“No wonder you missed me,” Darcy said. He smirked, opening his eyes.

“Yeah,” he drawled. “C’mere.” He held his arms out.

 

His real kisses were a lot more intense than the ones he’d given her with half the team on comms. Darcy was vaguely aware that Jane was giggling in the kitchen, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does Frank Grillo look like as a creepy biker? THIS. TW: he's an asshole.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QVMIi8uCJu4


	51. Hushpuppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dixiedolittle requested a story where Jack is a fan of Darcy's dog on Instagram and drags a reluctant Brock into shenanigans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

“You are the cutest little bug, Hushpuppy,” Darcy told the Boston Terrier, as she adjusted his outfit. He was wearing a purple t-shirt that said _STAR_ across the chest. She put a hat on him. “You look _great,”_ she said. “You have a hat face, just like me.” Darcy snapped his photo. “Now we’re going to put this on your ‘gram, sweetie.”

 

Her rescue was a minor DC social media celebrity. His followers included half of SHIELD, Tony Stark, and Thor. Thor loved Hushpuppy. They were sitting on the bench outside SHIELD’s new headquarters as Darcy ate French fries when someone stopped and gaped. “Is—is that  _ Hushpuppy?”  _ he asked. It was an agent Darcy had seen around. One of the triple agents who’d survived HYDRA. He was vaguely terrifying but had an Australian accent. It gave her cognitive dissonance to hear Steve Irwin’s cheery vowels slip out of his murderface.

“Yup,” Darcy said. “That’s my dawg.”

“I’m a real fan,” he said sounding awestruck. The darker haired man with him stared openly, expression jaded. 

“Well, come pet him, my dude,” Darcy said, waving him closer. “I’m Darcy Lewis,” she said.

“Bonzer,” he said. “Jack Rollins, STRIKE Alpha. This is Brock Rumlow—”

“Hello,” the other man said. He didn’t pet Hushpuppy. He was too busy grimacing at her baby. Darcy classed him as either allergic (understandable) or not a dog fan (unforgivable). “Interesting color scheme in your, uh, dog clothes,” Rumlow said.

“His favorite color is purple,” Darcy said. Hushpuppy preferred purple dog toys, beds, even bandanas, when given a choice. He picked yellow tennis balls over green, too.

“Yeah,” the guy said. Rollins was busy petting Hushpuppy and making cooing sounds. He was actually smiling, too. Darcy grinned. She leaned over to Rumlow.

“I made Agent Murderface smile,” she said, delighted. Rumlow was looking incredulously at Rollins. He tilted his head quizzically. Rollins’ cooing at Hushpuppy had grown louder and more enthusiastic. Hushpuppy was wiggling and bouncing; the Boston loved attention.

“Uh-huh,” Rumlow said. “He likes your dog.”

“You’re not a dog person?” she said.

“I like dogs fine,” Rumlow said. “I’m just not used to celebrity dogs wearing little hats.” His voice was dry. He wrinkled his nose at Rollins snapping selfies while Hushpuppy licked his face. Darcy pretended to be offended at his statement.

“Sir, you have grievously injured me. He has a hat face,” Darcy said. “We’re a hat family.”

“An interesting family,” Rumlow said, eyes on his coworker. “Jack.”

“Aren’t you a good boy--” Rollins was cooing.

“Rollins, we’ve got a meeting,” Rumlow said, more sharply. Jack flinched. 

“You could be nicer,” Darcy scolded. “He’s a fan!”

“Too right,” Rollins said. “Highlight of my week. Delighted to have met you both, Miss Lewis.” He beamed at her. It changed his entire face. 

“Would you like to come to Hushpuppy’s birthday party next week?” Darcy said. She found herself charmed by Jack Rollins’ besottedness with Hushpuppy. Also, she thought it would annoy the other agent.

“Really?” Jack said, looking like she’d told him he won the lottery.

“Yup,” Darcy said. She pulled out one of her cards and passed it to him. “Give me your email and I’ll send you an evite? You’re invited as well,” she told Rumlow. Rumlow nodded, frowning.

“Wow,” Jack said. It took him a minute to remember he had to do something. He ended up borrowing a pen from the irritated-looking Rumlow.

 

***

 

“I can’t believe you talked me into going with you to a birthday party for a little fucking dog,” Rumlow told Rollins as they drove to Darcy Lewis’s house. 

“Thor will be there,” Jack said.

“More celebrities,” Rumlow cracked. “A dog and a guy from Asgard.”

“Jane Foster does interesting research,” Jack wheedled. “You like that sort of thing.”

“Fury won’t let us weaponize portals,” Rumlow grumbled. A sore spot. Rumlow thought portals might be useful for team movements. Being able to move your team in and out of a dangerous area might save lives. Rumlow didn’t understand Foster’s hesitancy. But she’d never seen someone bleed out while you waited for a medevac in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. He could mention that, he thought grimly. But that would kill the mood and maybe ruin the dog’s big day. Rumlow sighed and looked out the window. This was complete bullshit. He tapped the edge of the car door restlessly. He didn’t know what his problem was. He’d been having moods lately. Dark moods. 

“Mate,” Jack said tentatively. Damn Jack for knowing him well enough to see when he was in one. 

“Let it go, Jack,” Rumlow said. He held up a finger for silence. “I’m going to the fucking party, all right?” he added.  

“Sure,” Jack said. His voice was careful. Rumlow nodded in acknowledgment. Rumlow watched the buildings pass as they crossed intersections. He’d thought being healed by Helen Cho would make him happier. Ever since he’d turned triple agent for Fury--he’d ignored Cap and Romanoff kissing on an escalator, gotten Hill into that van, and then embarked on a faked crime spree to get back SHIELD stuff as Crossbones--Brock had struggled to feel normal. He wasn’t usually outright fucking miserable, just flat. But seeing his old face in the mirror and feeling emptiness, not joy? That had fucked with his head. He’d thought his emotions would return with his looks. Instead, that vaguely muted feeling had gotten worse, turned sour and prickly. He was sour. He grimaced as they pulled up in front of a condo. The porch had balloons tied to it. Was this the right place? Then he saw the “Happy Birthday” banner strung up over the door.

“Motherfucker,” Brock said. “They put up decorations for the dog.” He looked at Jack. Jack was grinning dopily. He could feel his lips curl in distaste.

“This is bloody exciting, I wonder if any of the other Instagram dogs’ll be here?” he said.

“Yeah,” Brock said, raising his eyebrows. “Exciting.”

 

He found himself looking at a small backyard filled with dogs, tables with food, and balloons and pet toys tied to the trees. It was a fucking scene. “Okay, periodic reminder that the blue table is cookies for dogs and the red table is human food!” Darcy Lewis announced. She was carrying the birthday boy around. People were kissing Hushpuppy. As soon as her words registered, a sheepish-looking Thor checked his plate and Rumlow repressed a snicker. Jack brought him a beer, trailed by Sam Wilson.

“Thanks,” Brock said. “Wilson.”

“Rumlow,” Wilson said, nodding and stepping inside. Brock took a swig of his bottle and grimaced. 

“What kind of fucking beer is this?” Brock asked.

“Raspberry wheat. Bonzer, innit?” Jack said. “Oh, I gotta go meet Harry Pawter!”

“What?” Brock said. 

“The labradoodle in the scarf,” Jack said. He departed in long strides. Brock sat down on the porch with a grim sigh. A few minutes later, a serious-looking Doberman trotted up to smell him.

“Hey, pal,” Brock said mildly, offering a palm to the dog. The Doberman blinked at him with amber-colored, intelligent eyes, sniffed quietly, and let Rumlow pet him. “You’re a real dog,” Brock said quietly. “Not like some of this crowd of fucking purse dogs.” Jack was across the lawn, fussing over a poodle in a cowboy hat. The Doberman said next to him with a sigh. “Exactly. Ex-fucking-xactly,” Brock said under his breath. “This is bullshit, isn’t it? You’re a serious working dog and they put you at a party with a poodle in a goddamned hat.” He swigged his beer and pulled a face again. Who liked goddamned raspberry in beer? That made him warm to his theme. “Fucking life,” he muttered. “You think you’re made for some serious purpose and then one day, you’re drinking raspberry fucking beer, your coworkers are on social media like children, and you’re working with a guy in tights. Who gets all the respect now. It’s not respect, let me tell you, it’s celebrity,” he said, leaning into whisper. The dog looked at him coolly. “It’s clicks or likes or whatever the fuck they call it.” In response, the Doberman leaned his head against Rumlow’s knee companionably. He got it, Brock thought. At least somebody did.

 

***

“Why is Grandpa Rumlow here?” Sam asked in the kitchen. He and Steve were helping Darcy with food. “Grumping up this party like the Grinch, only more pissed off,” Sam said.

“Oh, sorry,” Darcy said. “I had to, I invited Jack. They’re partners, right?”

“They aren’t the kind of partners where you gotta invite Grumpy Grandpa to get the fun Australian,” Sam said. “He’s a sourpuss old man, always glaring at me.” 

“They’re work partners, not life partners,” Steve clarified. Darcy nodded. Sam shook his head. 

“Why don’t you get along?” she asked.

“Uh, him pretending to be HYDRA? He could have told me, we’d have avoided me kicking his ass,” Sam said.

“Uh-huh,” Steve said wryly. He winked at Darcy. She knew this meant a good story.

“I could have gotten him out of there on the helicopter,” Sam continued. “But no, it wasn’t approved protocol to disclose to me, ‘cause I wasn’t SHIELD. So, he gives me his little ‘order through pain’ speech,” Sam said. He did air quotes and waved his beer bottle. “He knew I was on the good side!”

“Order through pain?” Darcy said.

“HYDRA thing,” Steve said.

“And probably the motto of his Crossfit box,” Sam muttered. “Stupid asshole made me hit him.”

“Why are you laughing?” Darcy whispered to Steve, shoulder checking him as he looked down and laughed.

“Sam can’t let this go,” Steve said.

“You weren’t there, man. Listen, let me tell you about it. He took off his vest and asked if  _ I was ready for mine _ .” Sam mimed taking something off and then held his fists up. Steve was openly laughing now. “Just like that! Jumped on a damn table. Took off his vest to kick my ass, instead of going  _ I’m undercover.  _ That’s two words! And he acts like I’m the one at fault?” Sam said. “I didn’t make the building fall on him.”

“Then why do you feel guilty?” Steve said, grinning wryly. 

“You do seem a little fixated,” Darcy added.

“We could’ve have prevented that with a sentence. I didn’t know!” Sam said. “People need to give you information. That’s the problem with your line of work.” He pointed at Steve with his beer bottle. “We’re just running around in the dark, trying to find our asses--”

“Language,” Steve said. “That’s several now.”

“You know what I mean,” Sam said.

“I’m going to take these cookies out,” Steve said to Darcy. “People table?”

“Yes,” Darcy said. “I think.” She smelled them, just to be sure. “Yes.” She followed them out with more dog cookies and scanned the crowd in the backyard. The dogs were playing, everyone seemed happy. She could do Hushpuppy’s carob cake soon. That was when she realized Brock Rumlow was tucked in a corner of her porch, petting Ruby, the Dobie who belonged to one of the archivists. She walked over. “You met Ruby?” Darcy said, beaming at him. He seemed to catch himself. Darcy figured he’d been talking to the dog; he looked self-conscious.

“Yeah,” he said, pulling at his t-shirt collar.

“She’s a very serious dog, but an excellent listener,” Darcy said. She would make some conversation with this guy. The burns thing had made her more sympathetic than usual. Also, she was nosy and it really was astonishing: there was absolutely no trace of injury to his face. She was looking for them now and found nothing. She was afraid he realized she was staring. “But then again, Doberman,” Darcy added, waving her hand airily. She smiled and hoped he thought she was just checking him out because he was handsome.

“Huh?” he said, looking up from where he was rubbing Ruby’s neck.

“Lots of Dobermans--well-trained ones, anyway--can be kind of serious? In my experience, anyway. They’ve got this whole,  _ I might look chill, but I’m surveying the perimeter, don’t try any bullshit  _ vibe? That’s what makes them such good guard dogs. It’s not off-the-chain aggressiveness like people think, it’s the aura of calm watchfulness,” she said. “I love the way they just look at you and just blink, like,  _ I got this. _ ” He looked at her like she was crazy.

“If you like this, why don’t you have one?” he said. The hand on the dog stilled.

“Key word is well trained,” she said, scrunching her nose. “I don’t have the discipline. I like to have a dog I can spoil, so that means a little, relatively harmless dog. Although Hushpuppy and I have had to work on his food aggression issues.” She sighed. “We both really love cupcakes,” she said, laughing and poking at her belly. “Now his vet is giving me the same lecture my doctor does about my cholesterol. He needs to lose two pounds or something?” The Rumlow guy blinked at her. She’d expected him to laugh. It was oddly like he and Ruby had the same measured, assessing expression. Darcy wouldn’t say it--she’d never hurt Ruby’s owner’s feelings--but the reason she didn’t want a serious dog was that they made her feel a little judged. It was like Ruby could see that she was disorganized, needed to do her laundry, and liked glitter too much for an adult woman. And that she had no discernible abs. “Here,” she said, passing Brock one of the cookies.

“I don’t eat sugar,” he said.

“It’s for dogs, it’s rosemary chicken,” Darcy said. “You could eat it, though, it’s all human grade. I make them.”

“You made the dog food?”

“And the people food, too,” she said. Darcy was trying to figure out how to exit during one of the strange lulls in the conversation. “Well, I should go get the dog’s cake--” she began.

“The dog’s cake,” he said. He smirked at her. “Wouldn’t want to miss that.”

“I have people cakes, too, but you don’t eat sugar,” Darcy told him, letting her voice go arch. “Obviously, you’re disciplined.” She moved down into the yard with the dog cookies, watched Harry Pawter fetch his wand (a carved stick), and was talking to Jack when she caught Rumlow looking at her. She smiled, but he didn’t smile back.

 

***

Shit, Brock thought, she was pissed at him. He’d maybe been too mocking. One second, he’d been scoffing at the ridiculousness of the whole thing and then she’d said about the dog being watchful and he’d been forced to admit to himself that she wasn’t a complete idiot. She might actually be astute. She’d obviously been talking about him. Probably making fun of him. It was uncomfortable to be owned so thoroughly by someone wearing a “My Patronus is a Coffee Press” t-shirt, even if she was cute. He watched her laugh and joke with Jack across the yard. She was actually really fucking attractive, he realized, as she smiled. Nice mouth. Then she glanced at him. The glance seemed significant. He looked at Ruby. “We gotta do something about this,” he said quietly. He thought about it. What would throw her off her game as thoroughly as she’d thrown him? He was thinking about it when they brought the cake out and she snapped photos of her dog and helped blow the candles out. Brock studied her over the table. He’d say something back. Or do something. What could he do? He felt like she’d scored a point and he needed something in his favor. He hated to lose. He was stubborn.

 

All the dogs were being fed some truly leaden-looking canine cake when he came over to her in the yard. He threaded past a cheerful Thor rolling around in the grass with the goldendoodle. Ruby, trotting along beside him, veered over to examine Jack critically. “Hey,” Brock said to Darcy

“Having fun?” she asked brightly. He smiled; he’d decided to pretend he was cool, not be the odd guy out. Be charming. That would undo it. Rollins had probably told her that he was a grump. But he could be funny, when he felt like it. The problem was that he seldom felt like making the effort lately.

“Yeah, great time,” he said, smiling. “I might even have cake.”

“No way,” she said. “Not you! Cake? You know it has sugar, right?”

“I know it has sugar,” he said.

“Unless you want the low sugar dog cake?”

“I think it’s been licked,” he said, glancing at the cake-eating dogs. “I’ll take the diabetic coma option instead.”

“I’ll get you a piece.” She was grinning. 

“You want to give me a piece?” he said wryly. He raised an eyebrow.

“Ha ha,” she said. “Like bakers don’t hear that all the time,” she said, pushing his bicep. He didn’t sway. “Whoa. Muscles.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Some.”

“More than some!” she said.

“They’re for work,” he said modestly, shrugging. She looked at him and shook her head.

“Follow me and I’ll wreck all your hard work with cake,” she joked. He followed her, checking out her ass as they walked. When they got to the table, he leaned over to whisper in her ear. 

“Split some with me?” he said, making his voice low.

“Sure,” she said. He caught the color in her cheeks. That counted for something, right? A point in his favor. She fiddled with a knife that looked to dull to his eye. “This is only my third piece,” she said. “It’s no problem.”

“So, you have an appetite,” he said, without emotion. “You need to sharpen that knife.”

“What’s that mean?” she said. “The appetite thing? I know what knife-sharpening is.”

“Eh,” he said, tilting his head. Dodged the question.

“Don’t eh me, what?” she said. She put one hand on her hip. Stared him down.

“In my experience, women who don’t eat are usually less fun in bed than women who do,” he said..

“Okay, shut up now. This is my child’s birthday party!” she said, laughing. 

“Your child?” he said. “I gotta say, his nose looks a little funny.” Hushpuppy had migrated over to Jack and Jack was holding the dog in his lap.

“Shut up.”

“Also, he appears to have a tail. That’s not a normal kid thing, is it? I dunno, I’m single---”

“Yes, no mocking,” she said. “Also, very cleverly done, establishing that you’re single.” He grinned.

“What got you into this? The dog celebrity business?” he asked.

“Um, elves?” she said.

“Say what?” he said.

“I’d always wanted a dog and after we survived the Dark Elves thing, Jane told me I ought to, um, do the things I wanted to do,” she said. “In case we died the next time. Carpe diem and everything.”

“Like put your dog kid in little outfits?” he said teasingly.

“No, no, no. My mom bought him his first outfit and he got a million hits. We were brokish at the time, so I put some Amazon affiliate links on my blog, we made a little money. Things snowballed.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. He watched as she got a plate and then handed her a fork.

“Thank you. But it is fun,” she said. “Thinking of places to take him. We go all kinds of restaurants and landmarks--”

“You’re a dog pimp,” he joked. 

“Pffhhht,” she said, sticking her tongue out. “I’m eating this cake alone.” 

“No way, I’m having some of that piece,” he said, menacing her with his fork. She laughed. He flirted with her so obviously as they ate off the same plate--he made sure she got most of the cake--that when she went to do something, Jack came over.

“Bloody hell, did you just tell Darcy not to leave you hanging?” Jack said. He looked incredulous.

“I’m thinking of asking her on a date,” Brock said. Darcy was several feet away, saying goodbye to the poodle. He winked at her.

“What?” Jack said.

“You’re always telling me to get out more,” Brock said. “This is good cake. You have any?”

“You ate cake?” Jack looked astonished.

“She did mostly, but it’s not bad,” Brock said. “She makes the strawberry filling by hand.”

“What kind of game are you playing, mate?” Jack was staring. Brock shrugged.

“Having fun,” he said.

“You don’t have fun,” Jack said. 

“Maybe I should,” Brock said. “Besides, if this works out, you can dog sit for us.” Jack’s expression went from confused to delighted in slow fractions. Then his smile dropped away.

“Don’t you bloody well fuck this up,” he said. “She’ll block me or something!”

“What?”

“She can cut me off Hushpuppy’s accounts if you do your usual routine of not bloody calling or disappearing to Tanzania on her birthday--”

“That was work,” Brock said.

“You better not sleep with her sister!” Jack said, pointing a finger at him.

“She doesn’t have a sister, she’s an only child,” Brock said. “You’re being ridiculous, I don’t do that. You’re thinking of O’Reilly. He slept with somebody’s sister.”

“Yeah, well, you better not,” Jack said. “Just make this work or--or--”

“Or what?”

“I’ll hit you. I’ll hit you right all the way to Queensland, you understand?” Jack said.

“Sure, Jack. You’ll hit me.”

“Whatcha talking about?” Darcy said, appearing at his elbow. Brock smiled.

“Jack has volunteered to babysit your baby if we go on a date,” he told her. “Isn’t that nice of him?”

“Awww, that’s so nice,” Darcy said. “You’re a sweetheart.”

“Just don’t be mad at me if he’s a bloody idiot,” Jack said.

“Oh, I knew he was already,” Darcy said. “Who lives without sugar and makes faces at my beer?” Jack glared at him.

“Honey,” Brock said, soothingly. “I didn’t mean to insult your baking.”

“You better not,” Jack muttered.

“You busy Friday?” Brock asked.

“Possibly,” she said. “Harry Pawter’s owner asked me out.” Jack groaned.

“How about Saturday?” Brock supplied, unwilling to give up. 

“Competitive instinct,” Jack said in a low voice.

“Uh huh,” Darcy said archly. She smirked and turned on her heel. “You’ll have to make it up to me.”

 “I just like my beer and my raspberries separate, that’s all. Separate things--” he began, following her around the remains of the party.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been through a bit of a rough patch lately--first I got sick for a bit, then my 14 year old dog passed away this weekend. So, if you've got any fun/funny/sweet prompts to for me, send them on. I could use the distraction and mood boost.
> 
> Find me on tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/yespumpkindoodlesthings


	52. 3B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asexual Brock Rumlow for Rowan of Transylvania

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

“You chasing tail this weekend, man?” Agent Harris asked. It was the end of the workday on a Friday. They were off emergency rotation, except for level nine (world going to shit) emergencies. “I was thinking of heading to this new bar on U Street--” Harris continued.

“Maybe,” Rumlow said casually, shrugging. He was always careful to be casual whenever he was asked. No commitment. “I could drop by.”

“Rollins?” Harris said.

“Nah, mate. I have a date,” Rollins said. He smiled his feral smile.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” a passing agent Hernandez said. 

“Same guy as last week,” Rumlow said jokingly. He’d picked up that Jack was smitten with a guy he’d met who worked for one of the DC think tanks. 

“Gavin,” Jack supplied. It was odd to see his expression go so soft. 

“Have a nice weekend, Jack,” Brock said, patting him on the shoulder. He slung on his duffel bag and departed their block of desks. His boot treads were heavy on the carpeted flooring of SHIELD’s new headquarters. People tended to give him quiet head nods now. He was respected. After it had been revealed that he was working as a triple agent within HYDRA and he’d survived the fall of Triskelion and done his Crossbones routine to help Fury get back stolen SHIELD equipment, they’d quietly brought in Helen Cho to consult. Her Cradle had healed his burn scars and he’d been pardoned for any technical violations in the service of SHIELD by the president. His life was as normal and pleasant as it had ever been.

 

Pleasant for him, he thought wryly, unlocking his front door. Possibly not anyone else’s definition. Normal for him meant a steady, quiet routine outside of field work. Coffee at his favorite place. Gym in the morning, work, and a post-work second round at his boxing gym. He dropped his gym bag in its usual spot by the door and took a shower. He took more showers now---he had more sensation back in his skin and could actually enjoy the pour of lukewarm water over his body and the way the steam relaxed him. He turned off the shower and grabbed a towel. The newest of his tattoos was healing nicely, he thought, peering at his arm as he dried off. The tattoos were an addition to routine that he’d picked up now that he wasn’t pretending to be a soldier in Pierce’s clean-cut Nazi brigade. He might get another one soon. He threw on a pair of sweatpants and moved out to the kitchen. Poured himself a glass of wine, enjoying the sound of the cork. There was an email waiting on his home laptop from a ballistics expert that was a friend by correspondence. He would start dinner, read the email, maybe have a second glass of wine before he quit for the night. On Saturdays, he got up early to jog around Turkey Run Park; the rocky sections were great all terrain practice. He had no plans with anyone for the weekend. Which was exactly the way he liked it. No one at work knew, save Jack, but there was no possibility that he’d ever really be interested in Harris’s booze-fueled, womanizer weekends. Rumlow had coasted through ten years of being single at SHIELD without anyone guessing that he wasn’t interested in sex.  His body and his face did most of the work for him; when you looked hypermasculine and weren’t married, everyone assumed you were constantly fucking a stream of easily-discarded women. He let them assume. It was none of their fucking business. Jack said there was some online term for it now and tried to talk him into going to some goddamn parade, but Brock didn’t really care about labels. He considered himself a private person.

 

He had vegetables and marinated chicken breasts on a sheet pan in the oven and was typing a detailed response about bullet striations when his evening was interrupted. Out in the hallway, he heard a loud crash and a volley of swearing. Female voice, he registered, getting the gun he kept in the kitchen. He moved to his door. “Fuck fuck fuck!” a voice was saying as he opened the door. Standing in the hallway, a brunette woman hopped on one foot. There was a spilled box on the floor. “Freaking books!” she said. 

“Everything okay?” he said mildly. “Miss, uh---?” He recognized her. Jane Foster’s assistant. She’d just moved in across the hall. His complex was SHIELD-owned and split between R&D and field agents. Nobody wanted a second HYDRA infiltration, so the atmosphere had been a little tense at first, but things had quieted down. Now the field agents guarded the scientists and the scientists were quick to report anything strange: odd packages, new visitors, different vehicles. He was on the board. 

“Those assholes fell on my foot. Lewis,” she said, scrunching her nose. “Darcy Lewis. Sorry. I dropped my, uh, boxes.” 

“Let me get that for you--” he began.

“No, uh, I can--” she said quickly, as he crouched down to pick up a few stray books. He realized the box was full of books about sex. There were also some vibrators, but luckily, they hadn’t fallen out. He lifted the box for her. She was blushing. “This is the most embarrassing moment of my life,” she announced in a mock-breezy voice, “and my ex once took me to this fancy restaurant at Kensington Palace and I came out of the bathroom with toilet paper tucked in my jeans.”

“How?” he said, tilting his head in puzzlement.

“My mom was really big on teaching me to shield the seat, it’s a girl thing,” she said, “and you’re obviously not a person who needs to bother with the whole squat or shield the toilet dilemma when you pee, huh?” She glanced at his shirtlessness. He grinned in spite of himself. 

“No,” he said. “Can’t say that’s one of mine. Did you want me to help you carry this in?” he asked politely, then realized it was possibly suggestive. Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red.

“No, I’m just going to take this and go hide. You’ll never see me again. I’ll be the mystery neighbor,” she said, swallowing and then hurrying out the words. “Or the building ghost. Tenant 3B, the woman who died of humiliation and now haunts this hallway. Get those Buzzfeed Unsolved guys on it.”

“Buzzfeed Unsolved?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Youtube show,” she said.

“Youtube show,” he repeated, still utterly mystified. 

“Um, can I have, uh, that now?” she asked. He was still holding the box.

“Sure,” he said. He handed it to her--their hands brushed and there was an awkward little pass the box dance--and then he rubbed his head sheepishly. “Don’t be embarrassed, really,” he told her. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. Brock Rumlow.”

“What?” she said. Her mouth formed an o.

“I’m your new neighbor, Brock Rumlow,” he said.

“Oh God, you work with Steve and Nat,” she said, pulling a face. “You’re famous!” He shook his head, laughing. “I’m seriously scheduling that death by humiliation now,” she told him. 

“Please don’t,” he said. “I might feel guilty. And Cap would put in on my performance review.”

“Oh my God,” she said, in a different voice, expression delighted.

“What?”

“I get to tell Steve this story! And so do you! Do you know the faces he’ll make?” she said. 

“I would never--” he began, but she cut him off.

“Oh c’mon,” she said. “You _have_ to. Will he say language? Will he blush? Can we get him to laugh?”

“You’re embarrassed by this, but you want to tell Captain America?” he asked, puzzled by her. He crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Yes,” she said, nodding firmly. “The best thing about any embarrassing thing is getting to turn into a fun story.”

“Yeah?” He raised an eyebrow.

“I dated the world’s most boring English guy for a year, now that whole relationship has been boiled down to three fun anecdotes: “we kissed during the Elf thing, his mother called me Darby on purpose, and he couldn’t say the word penis out loud, even though he had one,” she said. Brock felt himself blink. She was like some sort of hilariously no-filter chatterbox.

“Darby?” he said. 

“Completely passive aggressive, totally on purpose,” she said. He frowned.

“Not nice,” he said.

“Definitely.”

“Did you drop the vibrator box on her doorstep?” he added dryly. “And what does that one---”

“Hey, hey, you’re making it embarrassing again,” she said, pretending to hide behind the box itself and shuffling backwards into her apartment. 

“What are you doing?” he said.

“Retreat! Retreat!” she said. “Aren’t you field agents supposed to recognize when the subject is fleeing?”

“Okay,” he told her, chuckling.

“You’ll never see me again!” she called, as the door to her apartment shut. He found himself laughing, ten minutes later, just thinking about it. His chicken was almost done. He put on a shirt and knocked on her door. “Hello?” she said, opening it. 

“It just occurred to me that you probably don’t have food,” he said.

“And you do,” she said, with a funny kind of piquancy. She was gorgeous; he realized she probably thought he was hitting on her. 

“I have completely platonic chicken,” he said, holding up his hands in surrender pose. “Chicken with no agenda.”

 

They had a great dinner. She was funny. Darcy Lewis had seen some bizarre things. Brock was treated to a story about Jane slapping Loki, Odin calling Darcy a “near-sighted rabbit,” and several about Asgardian sports and nudity. She made him feel strangely relaxed. He was somewhere in the middle of making her a coffee when he realized she was eyeing him speculatively. “Something wrong?” he asked, grinning. She was looking at his arms.

“How are you freaking single?” she said. 

“Pardon?” he said.

“You cook, your place is terrifyingly neat, you have a job, and you look like”--she gestured--”you?” He laughed. 

“I’m a miserable workaholic,” he said. He didn’t feel awkward when she asked.  

“Uh-huh,” she said. “He said, and then his neighbor was treated to a revolving door of adorable coeds doing the walk of shame every weekend,” Darcy said, mimicking a documentary and holding an invisible microphone. “Hannah, twenty-two year old psychology student from Braselton, Georgia, how did you meet Commander Rumlow?”

“At, like, a club,” she supplied in a second, more girlish voice. “He’s soooo charming and mysterious. It’s too bad he’s with the CIA and couldn’t tell me his actual name.” Brock started to laugh and had to lean against the counter. 

“Not gonna happen,” he told her seriously, resting his chin in his hand. “I’m gonna make you that coffee now, but I’m not sure you need the caffeine.”

“Sacrilege!” she said, clutching her chest in mock horror. “I always need the caffeine.” Two cups of coffee and several funny Fury impressions later, he walked her over to her door. “Thanks for, um, feeding me?” she said softly. 

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I had a great time.”

 

They kept running into each other. He kept inviting her over. Brock was surprised to hear the words come out of his mouth at first---he never invited people over. He liked his routine, after all. But they had dinner several times that first week. Darcy had been living across the hall for two weeks when he realized he’d started leaving his front door open to catch her as she came home. “Oof,” he heard her say, as she dragged something down the hall. He moved to the doorway.

“Foster keeps you at work too late,” he said, reaching for her bags. It was after seven o’clock.

“This is not Jane,” she said. “I went to a grocery store for actual vegetables. I’m making you dinner this time.” 

“You are?” he said, raising an eyebrow. She told him that her usuals were scrambled eggs and Pop Tarts.

“Don’t make that judgy face at me,” she said. 

“No judgment,” he said, raising his arms. “Absolutely no judgment whatsoever.”

“That is sarcasm,” she said. “Steve told me about your sarcasm face.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, feeling a weird pull in his gut. _She’s been asking about me at work?_ It made him feel...strange.

“Yes,” she said. “I know about your sarcasm, your stealth hero act, and that you’re allegedly”--she did air quotes--”the biggest womanizer in SHIELD history. You’ve literally never dated anyone seriously!”

“Technically, I guess not,” he admitted, grimacing slightly. Fucking work, ruining the good time he was having just being friends with her. Next, she’d ask him follow up questions and he might need to disclose his actual status. _Completely disinterested in sex._ He’d tried dating and fucking when he was younger, but felt awkward whenever his lack of libido became obvious to a girlfriend. They assumed he was cheating. At first, he thought he needed to meet the right person, but he'd eventually given up. It had been easier just to stop dating than to explain to someone he liked that it wasn’t them. Or somebody else. No girlfriend believed him when he said he didn’t get much from sex--

“You’re an actual facts genius,” she told him, interrupting his train of thought.

“What?” he said, confused. 

“Serious relationships are soooooo much work,” she said. “I’m done.”

“You’re done?” he repeated.

“You saw my vibrator box, my dude. I’ve pretty much decided to stop dating. I go on dates and they’re awful,” she said breezily. “It’s just some guy blathering about himself and practically drooling at my boobs.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, helping her unpack the grocery bags. Even as disinterested as he was in ogling her tits, he could imagine the responses. And her face was beautiful. More than once, he’d caught himself getting distracted by how pretty she was.

“And I’ve never had a really good relationship,” she added. “Either I’m crazy about them and they give me the brush off or it’s somebody who irritates me but is super interested. It’s too much work.”

“Yeah,” he said, wondering why she was telling him all this.

“So,” she said, gesturing. “I finally decided it yesterday. I’m done. Finito. Over. Strictly Single Darcy,” she said. “I want to work on my hobbies instead. Like, maybe learn to knit? Something hobby-esque. What do you do?”

“Huh?” he said.

“With your free time since you’re not accompanying a lady to weddings and stuff?” she asked.

“I, uh, go to the gym,” he said.

“Of course you do,” she said. “I don’t know if I’m up for that, though. I might get injured.”

“No,” he said dryly. “Not you.”

“Shut up,” she said. “I could learn to knit!” Her voice was excited. “Or really cook,” she added.

“You could always hang around here,” he said neutrally.

“Would you teach me to cook?” she asked. “Really cook? This is just zucchini and chicken breasts,” she explained.

“Sure,” he said. He wasn’t that great a cook, he thought as they worked, but he could call his sister. And he was certainly better at chopping. Her zucchini was irregular.

 

“This is so great,” she told him, as they sat at a bar on U Street the next night. Darcy was beaming.

“Yeah?” Brock said. Her first real cooking lesson had gone a bit sideways and he’d suggested they go out until all the smoke cleared out of the apartment. She leaned in to whisper.

“Nobody bugs me when I’m with you,” she said. “It’s amazing. It’s like they’re afraid to even stare!”

“You should try going somewhere with Jack,” he said dryly. 

“Ooooh, yeah. He has a great resting murderface,” Darcy said. “Do you eat nachos?”

“I could make an exception,” he said.

“I’m sorry I set your dish towel on fire,” she said, making a face.

“It’s fine.” And it was fine. Better than fine. He came home in the evenings and waited for her to show up. She always worked late, but he adjusted to having dinner later. And apparently, she started using him as an excuse to leave before midnight, so it was mutually beneficial. They moved between evenings at each other’s apartments. He taught her how to sharpen knives. She made him a piece of art and he hung it in his bedroom. The cooking lessons were usually comical. They even went places with Jane and Thor. He realized that people are work assumed they were dating and didn’t correct that, either. Only Jack asked about it. 

“What if she meets somebody, mate?” he asked quietly, as they were leaving the gym after work. 

“So she meets somebody,” he said bluntly. “We’ll still be friends. I’m friends with your ass and all you talk about is Mr. Think Tank.”

“Right,” Jack said. “So, you don’t have romantic feelings?”

“I don’t fuck, you know that,” Brock said roughly.

“Fucking isn’t feelings,” Jack said. “You never spend this much time with somebody.”

“She’s fun.” 

“Am I not fun?” Jack said. “That hurts my feelings.”

“You never set my dish towels on fire.” Brock grinned to himself and ignored Jack’s puzzled look.

 

To his surprise, she was already back when he got home. “Hey,” she said, looking up from his kitchen island. “This was supposed to be a surprise.” He’d given her a key.

“I’m surprised,” he said. “Need help?” She was surrounded by vegetables. Darcy nodded.

“I’m having overwhelm,” she told him. “This is supposed to become paleo quesadillas. I bought coconut wraps. That’s okay, right?”

“Of course,” he said. “I can chop.”

“I love you,” she said jokingly. He blinked. “I’m kidding, don’t freak out,” she added. 

“I’m not,” he said, moving over to the counter and drawing a knife.

“Yeah, that’s not ominous at all,” Darcy said. “And then she disappeared and was never seen agaiiiiinnnnn.”

“You gonna narrate your own murder?” he said, chopping. “We’ve already got Darcy narrates the walk of shame, Darcy narrates knitting, Darcy narrates spilling glitter on my couch--”

“That was totally an accident,” she said. 

“Yeah, I know.”

“You really don’t have to put my goofy artwork in your bedroom.”

“It looks good in there,” he said. He’d hung it where he saw it everyday.

“It looks like a serial killer did it,” she said.

“Nah,” he said. "I've met serial killers."

“You are far too tolerant of me being such a hot mess,” she said. He smirked.

“I might like it.”

“But you’re so organized!” she said. “How do I not drive you crazy?” 

“No idea,” he said.

 

An hour, several margaritas, and a plate of quesadillas later, she looked at him across the table. “I got glitter on your couch and you’re not mad!” she said, laughing until she hiccuped.

“The blue looks good with black leather,” he said, pouring her another margarita.

“I love these, too,” Darcy said. Then she hiccuped again. “Whoops,” she said. “I have a problem.”

“Hiccups?” he said.

“Noooooooo,” she said. “You’re my problem.”

“I am?” he said, smirking. “Because I can’t teach you to cook?”

“Nope,” she said. “That’s not it.”  She stood up and he rose in case she fell. She was swaying. “I have something to say,” she announced. "Big announcement."

“Okay,” he said, blinking in confusion. He held her elbows and she listed slightly.

“Something to say to you,” she said. She hiccuped another time. 

“Yeah?” he said.

“I think we should have sex.”

“Sex,” he said flatly. 

“Tonight.” He looked at her. “One”--she held up a finger--”I read something about hiccups being cured by sex, but that wasn’t my original in--inspiration. I was gonna tell you anyways. Because, Two.” She held up two fingers. “Two,” she repeated, “we have so much fun. Why can’t we have the fun naked?”

“Naked,” he repeated. There was a tight feeling in his throat. It was difficult to swallow.  

“Exactly,” she said. “All the fun of a regular Tuesday, only no pants. I hate pants, anyway. Also, I feel kinda bad that you’ve been keeping me company while I ditch dating and you haven’t been out with anyone--”

“Darcy,” he said. 

“--and I’m sure you’d like to get a little something something and I promise it won’t be weird. It might be a little weird, but we can figure it out. We put out that fire together--”

“Darcy,” he said. “We’re not having sex. Ever.” He made his voice blunt. She looked at him and her eyes widened. She stopped hiccuping.

“Never?” she said.

“Look, uh,” he said, trying to wrangle his buzzed brain. “It’s not you, it’s me. I, uh---”

“You think I’m not pretty,” she whispered, deflating slightly. Her expression was hurt. 

“No, sweetheat, you’re pretty,” he said hurriedly. She pulled her elbow out of his hand and caught herself on the table. “Really pretty,” he added.  

“Don’t lie,” she said. “I can tell when you’re lying, you blink more--” Her voice trailed off as she grabbed her bag. “I’m going, I’m going.”

“Don’t go,” he said.  He tried to block the door, but she fixed him with a teary look and his resolve to keep her there crumbled. He couldn’t stand it when people cried. The door shut behind her and he distinctly heard Darcy burst into tears in the hallway. “Fuck,” he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!” he yelled, escalating in volume. He seized a plate off the table and hurled it at the wall. It shattered on impact and slid down to the floor. 

 

He didn’t see her for several days, even though he kept his door open. Also, he made excuses to be on the same floor as Foster’s lab. But no Darcy. He was riding down in the elevator one day, increasingly irritable and short-tempered, when Jane got on. She pretended not to see him. “Where is she?” he asked bluntly. 

“She doesn’t want to see you,” Jane said. He hit the stop button on the elevator.

“Tough,” he said. “Tell me where she is.”

“You can’t bully me,” Jane said, putting her hands on her hips. Her voice was fierce.

“Don’t be an idiot, Foster, I’m not bullying you. I just want to see her, all right? Where is she?” he asked. Jane sighed heavily.

“She went back to her apartment--she forgot some paperwork, she’s been so upset and distracted by you---are you just climbing out?” Jane said. The elevator had stopped and when he’d hit door open and the floor level was at his waist. He swung up easily.

“Shut the door, start her up again,” he said, over his shoulder.

“You’re insane!” she called up.

 

“Darcy,” he called, knocking. 

“Go away,” she called through the door.

“I need to talk to you,” he said. “About the other night--” The door opened a fraction. She looked up at him.

“What about it?” she said. “You’ve made yourself perfectly clear. You don’t want to fuck the fat girl, the ridiculous assistant girl.” Her voice was arch. She made to shut the door and he stopped her.

“Bullshit,” he said. “That’s all in your head, not mine.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she said, opening the door wider. 

“It means you invented a story and you don’t want to listen to me or talk to me--and by the way,” he said, stepping inside, “you definitely can’t handle no strings.” He shut the apartment door and pointed at her. “You suck at no strings,” he told her. She yelped like he’d kicked her.

“You asshole!” she said.

“You’re emotionally involved with me,” he said. “And we’ve only known each other a few weeks.”

“You total asshole!” she said, raising her voice in offense. He ignored her outrage.

“I’m emotionally involved, too, which makes this fucking difficult,” he said, moving over to her coffee pot. “I think it calls for some goddamned coffee.”

“What?” she said.

“Just give me a fucking minute, okay? I need something to do with my hands,” he said, spooning coffee into the basket. 

“Okay.” He poured in the water and the coffee started to brew. He watched it. Looked at her. Watched the coffee. The minutes stretched on while he thought about words. “Well?” Darcy said.

“Stop rushing me,” he grumbled. She sat down on the couch abruptly. He got mugs out of her cabinet. “Sugar?” he said.

“Yeah,” she said. “If I’m allowed to talk.”

“You can talk all you want in a second, woman,” he said, feeling himself smirk despite the flipping in his stomach. He finished her coffee.

“That’s sexist.”

“Sue me for discrimination,” he told her. Then he plunked her coffee down in front of her. “There, coffee.”

“Thank you,” she said, glaring. She was almost pouting. He found it oddly endearing. 

“Okay,” he said. “The other night, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings--”

“Don’t act like I’m so sensitive because I’m a woman or something,” she said bitterly.

“Yeah, this has nothing to do with your stuff,” he said.

“My stuff?”

“Your insecurities or whatever,” he said, sighing.

“You schmuck!” she yelled, hitting him with a couch pillow. He grinned. 

“Everyone has insecurities,” he said mildly. “God knows why you do, though.”

“Is that your idea of a compliment?” she said.

“We’re off track, sweetheart,” he said. “What I’m trying to say is that, uh,”---he rubbed his jaw---”I didn’t turn you down because of you, this is all me.”

“Sure.” She sounded sarcastic. He took a swig of his coffee. Swallowed. Looked over her shoulder. Sighed.

“I’m, uh, I don’t fuck,” he said.

“What?” she said.

“Fucking isn’t my thing,” he said. “I’ve never enjoyed it.” She was staring at him, wide-eyed. “I haven’t dated anybody in years. Once women find out about my libido, they think I’m fooling around or they’re disappointed....” He let his voice trail off.

“Are you asexual?” she said. Darcy looked astonished.

“Yeah, that’s the word,” he said, nodding. “Jack keeps trying to get me to go to pride parades, but I, uh, like to keep my private life private.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Oh.”

“It’s nothing to do with you,” he said. “I like spending time with you.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said. Then she burst into tears again.

“Jesus Christ,” he said. “Don’t cry. Why are you crying?”

“I’m such an asshole!” she wailed. “I made you out yourself.” He patted her shoulder awkwardly. 

“It’s okay,” he said.

“You don’t have to touch me if it’s uncomfortable,” she said, sniffling. 

“It’s not,” he said. “I’m shit at it, but I don’t feel uncomfortable.” He smirked and got her a tissue.

“But I harassed you like an old man at a science conference,” she said. He laughed.

“You were drunk,” he said. 

“That doesn’t make it better,” she said. She looked at him. “I’m one of those men now! The ones who think their female friends secretly want to fuck them.” She sounded horrified. “I’m a guy on the internet.” He threw back his head and laughed some more.

“Relax,” he said. “I don’t think you’re a pervert.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Can we go back to normal now?” he asked. “Because I’m kind of going crazy here.”

“What?”

“I miss you. You did something worse than grabbing my ass or something,” he said. “You made me fucking lonely, you know that? It’s too damn quiet in my apartment. Nobody leaves a mess. I’m dying of boredom over there.”

“Really?” she said, sounding pleased. 

“So,” he said. “If we’re okay, let’s go back to work and tonight I’m cooking?”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. He grabbed a tissue and dabbed the mascara streaks off her eyes. She stared at him.

“I’ll put this in a travel mug,” he said, prying her cup out of her hands. He stood up. “You okay?” he asked, turning to look back at her.

“You really don’t look like someone who isn’t interested in sex,” she said, voice far away.

“It’s a neat trick, isn’t it?” he said wryly. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your sweet comments and prompts! I appreciate everyone's kindess.


	53. 3C

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same 'verse as Ch. 51, only Darcy's POV. Prompt: Ace!Brock for Rowan of Transylvania.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thank you for all your sweet comments, kudos, and prompts this week. Y'all are keeping me going.

“What are you doing?” Darcy said, when she got home and realized Brock was lighting candles at his dinner table. He’d left the door open. She knew Rollins teased him about his lax security attitude where Darcy was concerned. She’d heard at work.

“Making you dinner,” he said, smiling. 

“Oh, yeah?” she said, tossing down her messenger bag and shutting his door. “Does this have anything to with what you told Agent Harris today?” 

“That I said yes when he asked if you were my girlfriend?” he said. “You wanna argue?”

“Not particularly,” she said, grinning widely. “Unless you want to pick a different name?”

“Different name?” Brock said.

“What about significant other?” Darcy suggested. “Partner? Something more mature and grown up, since we’re being civilized grownups?”

“All those,” he said casually. “They work.” He blew out his match. “You tell me which one you want to be called.” 

“Seriously?” she said. She had been wild with curiosity all day.

“Sit,” he told her gently, helping her out of her scarf. “What I want to say is, uh, you mean a lot to me.”

“Ditto,” she said. He stopped her with a gesture. She clapped her hand over her mouth in mock chagrin. He smiled.

“Lemme get this out,” he said. “I didn’t just say that to stop Harris from getting in my business.” She nodded. He went on. “You’re my person or whatever they call it now. This feels like a serious relationship to me,” he said. “I think we should be more open at work.” Darcy was so surprised, she took her hand off her mouth.

“Yeah?” Darcy said. “What would that, um, mean?” Brock looked thoughtful. Licked his lips slightly, then spoke again.

“Everything we do now, but defining our relationship in public?” he said. 

“I thought you wanted to keep your private life private?” she said, curious. He reached over and took her hand. Darcy froze for a second, surprised again. His touch was gentle.

“I think that, uh, I want people to know how important you are to me?” he said quietly.

“Oh my God,” Darcy said, feeling the urge to cry. “You can’t just say stuff like that! You’ll kill me with feelings.”

“Yeah?” he said, smirking. Then his face went serious. “Unless you think you’re going to change your mind about wanting to date again sometime?” he asked. Darcy had clarified that she still didn’t want to date anybody. She was shaking her head before he finished the words.

“Absolutely not changing my mind,” she told him. “And us being more public about the time we spend together will get Nat off my back.”

“She been bothering you?” Brock said, shifting forward. His expression turned intense.

“Are you seriously going to fight the Black Widow because she wants to set me up with some guy from Analytics?”

“What guy?” Brock said. 

“I dunno,” Darcy said, shrugging. She’d been persistently giving Nat the brush off. “I wasn’t interested.”

“She bothers you again, I’ll talk to her,” he said, looking serious. Darcy wondered if you could be jelly if you didn't want to get in someone's pants? She decided yes, recollecting the time Fury had tried to give Jane a science-trained assistant and she'd felt as mad as a wet cat.

“Okay. What about, like, romantic stuff?” she asked.

“You want flowers?” he said, thumbing over her hand.

“What?” Darcy said.

“You know, flowers, candy, that kind of thing--” he was saying, as he got up to check dinner. 

“You want to buy me flowers?” she asked, confused. 

“I don’t mind,” he said, looking up from his pan. “Flowers are nice to have around.” He kept plants. He was much better at that kind of thing than her, Darcy had realized. That he trusted her to water his plants when he was away seemed like a strategic mistake. She dragged her mind back to the topic at hand.

“Actually,” she said. “I was thinking about holding hands and stuff? Where’s the line with, like, platonic versus sexual stuff?” 

“Sex is sex,” Brock said, shrugging.

“I don’t understand that at all,” she said. "I need more concrete definitions."

“If my penis isn’t involved, it’s not sexual,” he told her. “I’ve held your hand before.”

“Because I trip,” she said. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable--” 

“I do hand to hand combat training, I don’t mind if you wanna hold hands or me to rub your feet,” he said, looking amused. “It’s not like we don’t touch each other already.”

“Really?” she said. “My feet?”

“Your feet aren’t sexy,” he teased.

“Shut up,” Darcy said. “What are you feeding me?” She peered towards the pan.

“Those mushrooms you like,” he said. He stirred.

“You’d really be comfortable like holding hands in public and rubbing my feet?” Darcy said. He smirked at her.

“Yeah, but not before I eat,” he said. "You got gnarly toes."

 

 She fell asleep on his couch that night and woke up tucked under his arm. In his bed. She tried to wiggle out quietly. “Where you going?” he said sleepily.

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“S’fine,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

“This is okay?” she said.

“This is good,” he said. Darcy blinked. She was confused. She’d assumed that because he didn’t want sex, he’d want to keep a distance from her. He was interested in cuddling her without sex? It dawned on her that she’d never been around someone who saw those as separate activities. As Brock snored next to her, she went over all the things in her mind that had led her to drunkenly throw herself at him: Hand holding. Hugging her. Telling her she looked nice. Putting an arm around her. She’d misread all those gestures as precursors to sex _because she’d never had anyone do that for her who didn’t have a sexual motive. Anyone male and straight, anyway…._

“Whoa,” she said out loud.

“Hmm?” Brock said.

“You do things for me without wanting sex,” Darcy said out loud. 

“Yeah,” he said. “You smell nice, though.”

“Thank you,” she said, dissolving into giggles. 

“What?” he murmured sleepily.

“You’re really good at no-strings friendship and affection,” Darcy said.

“I know.”

  


“So, you’re okay?” Jane asked when they went to lunch. Darcy had clued her in. She needed a confidante. “Without sex?”

“I think so,” Darcy said. “We decided we’re doing couple-y things together just like anybody else. Nobody will even know, probably. I’ll just need to veto snuggling while I’m ovulating or whatever, so my ovaries don’t get ideas and try to manhandle all his pretty. That’s why I’m keeping my apartment.” She’d been contemplating quitting birth control as part of her no-date thing even before Brock had told her that he was asexual. She hadn’t told Brock in detail, but there had been a blind date with a guy named Dave when Darcy was avoiding Brock. She’d been on the date when she realized with a horribly sad lurch that she wanted to be on Brock’s couch. Not at that table while Dave talked about his condo shopping and his favorite bow tie maker. That night, she’d gone home and cried. Darcy had realized the time she spent with Brock made her happy. Really happy. She was miserable without him.

“Brock _is_ pretty,” Jane said. “I’m guessing that will be the true challenge.”

“Yes.” Darcy nodded seriously. “So pretty. Sometimes, I just look at him. He caught me staring the other day---”

“He hugs you, too,” Jane pointed out.

“Yeah, that’s fine. I’m just worried about me getting grabby hands when we sleep together,” Darcy said. She looked down at her palms. “Don’t go all evil on me! Remember that horror movie with the cute guy from all the _Tiger Beats_ when we were little? The one where his hands are possessed?”

“You sleep together?” Jane said, sounding shocked and ignoring Darcy’s _Tiger Beat_ -themed tangent.

“He likes to cuddle platonically. He says I smell better than a tent full of sweaty field agents, too,” Darcy said. “It’s nice.”

“Nice?” Jane said skeptically.

“Yeah, really nice. I’ve been thinking about it. You know, when I was eight or nine, my cousin was a few years younger and whenever I visited in the summer, we shared a bed?  It was perfectly innocent. Wyatt was an only child like me and was just excited to have another kid around, but I can’t even tell that story without people trying to make it weird? It makes me realize how much we sexualize everything,” Darcy said. “Even children!”

“Oh God,” Jane said. “We do.” They both got quiet for a minute. “I feel guilty now,” Jane added.

“Don’t feel guilty.”

“I still feel guilty.”

“I like Brock--I really like him. We have a great time together, Jane. Why should sex matter that much?” Darcy wondered. She’d been ready to give it up for knitting, anyway. It was so rare to meet someone and feel connected to them. The process of getting your hopes up and being disappointed was draining. She felt the opposite with him--that easiness made her feel energetic and look forward to things with him. Having dinner, going to the movies. They were talking about cooking class. He’d even dragged her to a plant nursery. It had been the same with Jane and Erik in New Mexico. And Thor. But that was it. That was her entire list of instant emotional connection people. Brock was the exception, not the rule.

“It’s not like we don’t know tons of traditional couples who barely have sex,” Jane said. “Wendy told me she and Steve haven’t had sex in a year.”

“I bet they fight all the time, don’t they?” Darcy said. Steve and Wendy were two of Jane’s Culver professor friends. Darcy had once been to an awkward dinner party with them at Thor and Jane’s. Steve had made a bunch of cutting remarks and been a general tool.

“Steve called her chubby,” Jane whispered.

“What?” Darcy said. She made a fail buzzer sound. “Okay, perfectly reasonable. No sex for Steve, possibly ever.”

“Right?” Jane said. “He’s a jerk. She doesn’t even undress in front of him anymore.”

“Ow,” Darcy said. “That’s so sad. They’re married! You’re supposed to trust your spouse more than other people. Yeesh. I’m depressed now.” Jane nodded.

“It’s bad,” she said. Darcy contemplated her diet Coke. “What is it?” Jane said.

“I was thinking about Wendy,” Darcy said. “It reminded me of Ian.” Ian and she had broken up, not because of some major disagreement, but because Darcy felt like Ian didn’t actually care about her on some level. Didn’t respect her intelligence, either. 

“Ian was a Steve,” Jane said. “I’m glad that’s over.”

“Me, too.”

“So, you are Brock are a thing now?” Jane said.

“Yup, we’re a thing. He wants me to pick the label?” Darcy said.

“The label?” Jane’s expression was quizzical.

“Girlfriend, partner, significant other, I get to tell him which one I like,” she said. “What if I insisted he call me his lady friend, like we’re in an old movie? Or--this is better--I can start introducing him as my gentleman friend!” she told Jane.

“Gentleman friend?” Jane said, eyebrows raised. She scrunched her nose.

“That’s what my aunt Debbie calls her boyfriend,” Darcy said. “They’re sixty. I just want to do it once to see his face.” 

“That’s awful,” Jane said.

“No, no, it’s cute,” Darcy insisted. “Adorable, I swear. This is my gentleman friend, Mr. Rumlow,” she mimicked.

“Okay, Darce.” Jane laughed.

  
  


“Where’s Brock?” Sharon Carter asked Darcy when she saw her at a SHIELD birthday party a few weeks later. Darcy had just come out of the kitchen. It was Cameron Klein’s birthday. She had helped Brock pick out a really good present because of their whole thing during the HYDRA Uprising. She thought Cam would appreciate it.

“My gentleman friend is around here someplace,” Darcy said, peering around. He’d been talking with Jack when she’d had to pry herself out of his grip to check on the cake. She’d helped bake it with Sharon for Cam. She was better at baking than regular cooking, for whatever mysterious reason.

“I heard he never leaves you alone at these things. Kudos to you,” Sharon said. “Everybody thought he’d never actually date one woman seriously. You better lock that down.”

“Lock it down?” Darcy said, trying not to giggle.

“Get him to put a ring on it,” Sharon said. That made Darcy realize Sharon was a little buzzed. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were bright.

“Sharon, how many drinks have you had?” Darcy teased.

“Not that many!” she said, counting out on her fingers. “Just one for all the paperwork I’ve done this week, one ‘cause my feet hurt, a third one for the asshole at Langley who’s always staring at my ass, a fourth one…” Sharon dissolved in laughter.

“A moderate amount,” Darcy supplied. “If you’re from Europe.”

“My parents were British!” Sharon said. “Does that count?”

“I think so,” Darcy said, nodding seriously. She was familiar with the giddy buzzed nature of Very Serious Workaholic Women. Jane had taught her. 

“But really, how did you do it? What’s your secret?” Sharon said.

“Do what?”

“Get Brock Rumlow to commit?” Sharon said.

“Ummmm, I live across the hall? He couldn’t avoid me forever,” Darcy joked.

“Ohhhhh,” Sharon said. “That’s a good idea. That almost worked for me and Steve…I have to think about that.” 

“I didn’t mean--” Darcy began, before she felt a heavy, sturdy arm go around her shoulder. She looked up. Brock was smiling at her. 

“Hey, sweetheart. Sharon, how are you?” he asked.

“I’m good! Really good,” Sharon said. “I’m going to get another drink and think about moving.” She toddled off.

“Oh shit,” Darcy muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Brock said, sliding her closer.

“She wanted to know my secret for catching you, a highly eligible man,” Darcy said. “I told her I lived across the hall and I think she’s going to move in next to someone now.”

“Huh,” Brock said. “I wonder who?”

“Maybe we should put Natasha on it?” Darcy suggested. He nodded.

“Strategic plan,” he said. “Let’s go find her.” He took Darcy’s hand and moved forward through the crowd of party goers.

“By the way, Sharon thinks I should get you to put a ring on it,” she said, expecting him to laugh. He looked back at her. 

“That’s a thought,” he said. 

“What?” Darcy said.

“You like jewelry,” he said. “I can buy jewelry.”

“Brock, that was a joke!” Darcy insisted. He continued towing her forward, grinning. “I really don’t expect you to---”

“Good,” he said. “Then it’ll be a surprise when I get you something nice for your birthday. Where’s Romanoff? I want to put her insatiable matchmaking to actual use.”

 


	54. Pet Adoption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:  
> In honor of Doodles, Marvel characters as pets! Avengers, STRIKE, SHIELD agents, whoever you want. Maybe they have an owner, maybe there are no humans at all, maybe some of them are wild animals, just all the animal cuteness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! More pet-themed shenanigans. This is sort of the reversed version of my "Loki turns Darcy into a Pom story" in ch. 45 (Berk! Berk!)

“Where is he?” Jack Rollins mumbled to Brock Rumlow. They were using their SHIELD gunsights--the ones that could see through walls for body heat--to find an escaped Loki in a DC warehouse. The Asgardian had shown up in the middle of the new DC headquarters, attempted to steal something from R&D, and then fled. Unfortunately, Thor and Jane Foster were off-world doing research.

“Maybe he doesn’t have body heat,” Rumlow said grimly. 

“Shit,” a third agent muttered. Rumlow nodded, then pointed. He was going to check inside one of the rooms on the second floor. Rollins nodded back. Brock moved silently up the metal staircase, then pushed the door open. There was someone standing in front of the window, back to him.

“Hands up, pal,” Rumlow said.

“Oh, I am sorry,” Loki said, smiling. “I can’t.”

“Hands up,” Rumlow repeated. Loki sighed. 

“This is unfortunate, but temporary,” he told the STRIKE Commander. There was a brief flash of light and Rumlow’s yell turned strangled as he pulled the trigger once. 

 

A few seconds later, Jack Rollins was looking for his boss. “Rumlow?” he said over comms. “Rumlow?” He moved rapidly upstairs when there was no response. On the floor of the room where Brock Rumlow had been, there was a gun and a comms device. But no Rumlow. “Bloody hell,” Jack said. “Boss is missing. Boss is missing,” he repeated. Downstairs, one of the agents ran to open another door and was knocked down by a fleeing Loki, pursued by a Doberman. He yelled.

“What is it?” Maria Hill said in his ear.

“Fucking Loki being chased by a big, pissed off dog,” he said, coughing on the ground.

“A dog?” Maria said.

“Get that dog!” Jack said. “It’s Rumlow!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Maria said.

 

With Jane off world, Darcy was at loose ends: Jane was still paying her salary and she was technically employed by SHIELD, but Fury was only calling her in to do clerical work as needed. The other labs were all full. Mostly, she’d been working half days and then running Thor’s social media accounts and going to the movies. She was bored. That was how she ended up at the no-kill shelter. “So, this would be your first dog?” the employee asked.

“No, I had dogs growing up, but my job used to require traveling. I’ve always wanted to get a dog and I’m based in DC now, so it seemed like the right time,” she explained. She had printed several listings from Petfinder.com: a beagle, a poodle mix, and a mystery mutt named Scooby. Darcy was seriously leaning towards Scooby as they entered the doors to the back and she saw the rows of pens. The noise of dogs barking was loud; she grinned. It was one of her favorite sounds, right up there with hearing Thor start a sentence with, “My friends! Watch this!” She looked around in delight. They walked past the first pens. “Awwww,” she said, heart melting at a bouncing lab mix. She knelt to pet it through the chain link panel. From the back of the pen, a Doberman rose and trotted over. “Do you have a buddy?” she asked the lab. The lab wiggled happily.

“The lab has already had a pending application, but the Dobie is new--” the employee was saying, when the Doberman nudged Darcy with its nose.

“Hey, pal. How you doing?” Darcy said. “He’s gorgeous, but probably would hate an apartment, right?” She looked up at the worker.

“It depends,” the worker said. The dog nudged Darcy again, more forcefully.  

“Hey,” Darcy said, looking back down. The Doberman had seized her jacket sleeve through the links and was tugging. She started to laugh. “Do you want to be an apartment dog?” Darcy asked it. The dog backed up and barked, then dove forward and yanked her sleeve again. “I think that’s a yes,” Darcy said. 

“You can bring him back if he’s a poor fit, it’s part of our contract,” the worker said.

“Okey dokey,” Darcy said.

“You have to agree to have him neutered,” the worker added. The Doberman barked wildly. 

“Did you understand that?” Darcy said, peering down at him. “Yup, testicles. The scourge of all households,” she joked.

 

“You have gorgeous eyes, Dobie Gillis,” Darcy said to the dog. She was sitting her on couch. It yawned and made a noise. “Okay, you don’t want to be named after a sitcom character. Noted.” She was making a list. “I can’t name you Mr. Darcy, that’s too meta,” she said. “Bingley?” The dog flopped over with a sigh. “Yeah, you’re not a Bingley. I had a bunch of food names--Butterbean, Peanut, Popcorn--but those feel like small dog names.” She crossed off several things. The Doberman had followed her around the house all weekend, hyper focused and eager to go for walks. He kept dragging her past the SHIELD offices and trying to go in. It was funny. She was going to sneak him in on her next shift, if he wasn’t at the vet for his snip-snip. “Cashew?” she said. “Nah. What if I named you Nick Fury?” she joked. The dog howled.

 

“I can’t believe you got a dog!” Jane told her via their galactic phone. “That’s so exciting.”

“I can’t wait for you to meet him,” Darcy said. They were having a great time. She was lying in bed. He was stretched next to her, eyes watchful. “We’ve been to the park, the pet spa place, a couple of restaurants, he guards the apartment like a champ, he’s totally well-behaved.”

“You’re in love with him already!” Jane said. The dog tilted his head at her squeal through the phone.

“Jane, he’s perfect. The perfect dog. The smartest, bestest dog,” she said. A paw found its way onto her wrist. She laughed. “He tries to hold hands with me, I swear. Someone must’ve trained him.” She rubbed his head.

“Have you picked a name?”

“I can’t decide what to name him, it’s killing me, Jane.” In the background a voice yelled.

“Starlord!”

“What?” Darcy said.

“That’s just Quill,” Jane said. “We can’t name the dog after you, Peter,” she called out. “How will we tell you apart?” There was a click as someone picked up the line.

“Okay, but hear me out,” an unfamiliar male voice said. “Name him after a kickass musician. I got options: David Bowie, Marvin Gaye, Elvin Bishop--”

“Who?” Jane said.

“He sang ‘Fooled Around and Fell in Love?’” Quill said, singing the title. “Like that?” 

“Oh, I know that one,” Darcy said. “But if we’re going seventies, I sort of lean towards Joe Tex.” The Doberman whined.

“Ooooh, Joe Tex,” Quill said. “Who is Joe Tex?”

“Oh my God, he’s amazing,” Darcy said. “I’ll send music files!”

“She can do that?” Quill said. 

“Darce, what have you done?” Jane joked when Quill said goodbye. “He’s worse than you with his weird music tastes.”

“Ooooh, what about Joe Manganiello?” Darcy said. She’d been thinking of Joes she liked.

“I like that one,” Jane said.

“He’s very handsome, just like Mr. Sofia Vergara,” Darcy said seriously. The dog yawned again. “Jane, I swear to God, he just smiled at me--with teeth!”

“Isn’t that growling?” Jane said.

“No, Dobies do a smile! I’ve seen online videos, it’s adorable,” Darcy said. “I can't believe how well this is going. There haven't been any issues at all. We just had to reschedule his neuter for next month because he chewed the cord on my alarm clock and I slept through it.”

 

“Come on, Joe Manganiello,” Darcy said, getting out of her car at SHIELD the next day. She was sneaking him in for her first work shift in over a week. Apparently, there had been a level eight emergency with a missing agent? They hadn’t needed her because a bunch of things had been shut down while they searched for the poor guy. Darcy had skimmed the email, but then been distracted by Joe’s frantic barking. “I know you hate my job”--he barked whenever she talked about work, she put it down to his exceptional intelligence, since he followed her other commands flawlessly--”but this pays for your Beggin’ Strips, okay? Not that you like those. You know, you’re the first dog I’ve ever met who didn’t love those things. You’re special,” she told him as they walked towards one of the less-used entrances. She scanned her card and the door beeped. “Score!” Darcy said.

Joe barked.

“Shhh,” she said. “We gotta be quiet.” She opened the door and tried to skulk down the hallway. Darcy darted her eyes back and forth, clutching his leash tightly. He pulled and whined. He never did that. “Shhh,” she repeated. “I can’t get caught---Joe, no!” she hissed as he tugged at his leash. He pulled at it. Her feet started to slide on the slick flooring. “Shit, shit,” Darcy said. “No! No!” Her voice was a panicked whisper. He pulled fiercely and Darcy lost her grip on the leash. Joe took off. Darcy started to chase him and they ended up in the lobby of the new headquarters. ”Get that Doberman!” Darcy yelled, as agents dived out of the way. She skidded around a corner and realized Joe had stopped at Nick Fury’s feet.

“Lewis?” Fury said.

“I’m totally returning your Beggin’ Strips!” Darcy shrieked.

“What are you doing with my agent?” Fury said.

“What?” Darcy said. 

“It’s Brock Rumlow,” the agent next to Fury said. 

“That’s Joe Manganiello,” Darcy said at the same time. “I adopted him from the no-kill shelter.” Fury looked tired. 

“Can someone figure out if this is my STRIKE Commander or just Lewis’s dog?” Fury said.

“I need to take him to R&D,” another agent said. His accent was Australian.

“Not without me,” Darcy said, snatching his leash back. She looked at Joe. “Do you want to go?” she asked.

“Like he’d answer,” an agent behind Fury snickered.

“He’s very intelligent,” Darcy insisted. Joe stood up and made to move with the Australian agent. Darcy held onto his leash. The three of them got on an elevator.

“Jack Rollins,” the Australian said.

“Darcy Lewis,” she said. He looked at the dog.

“I hope it’s him,” he said glumly. “We lost Commander Rumlow pursuing Loki--”

“What?!” Darcy said. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Rollins stared. “I could have called Thor!”

“He’s in space,” he said.

“They have a phone!”

“I didn’t know that,” Rollins said. “Thought he hated phones.”

“His fingers are too strong, he breaks them. But Jane always has a phone. We spent ten minutes texting because he wouldn’t eat Beggin’ Strips this morning,” she said, gesturing with the leash.

“Rumlow’s a bloody picky eater,” Rollins said, tilting his head.

“Yeah? Does he eat filet mignon, because this one opened my fridge and tore the wrapper, so we both had some,” she said. “Is your boss a fancy picky eater?” Rollins laughed. 

“Too right,” he said. “It is you.”

Some minutes later, Darcy was pacing in the hallway. There was an argument taking place in R&D. She was refusing to let them experiment on her dog. “It’s okay, Joe,” she told him. He was watching her. “Or Rumlow?” she added. “I called Jane. She’s going to get somebody from Asgard--”  Darcy stopped as a series of golden sparks accumulated in the hallway. The dog barked. The figure of an Asgardian healer emerged. 

“Hello,” she said grandly.

“Hi,” Darcy said. 

“This is the creature?” she asked, turning to the barking Doberman. 

“He’s not--”

“Ah yes, Loki’s work,” she said. She retrieved something from inside her robes. “Give him this. It will reverse the spell,” she said. She handed Darcy a vial and disappeared again.

“Bloody hell,” Jack said, sticking his head out of the nearest lab. “What was that?”

“Help,” Darcy said. She looked at the vial, then her dog. “Can you drink this? I promise it’s safe,” she told him. He nudged her arm. “Okay,” she said. Her hands were shaking as she uncorked the vial and tipped it between the dog’s teeth. He tilted his neck back and she rubbed his throat so he’d swallow. 

“What do we do---?” Jack began, but there was a weird glow and then there wasn’t a dog on the floor. A dark haired man was sprawled on his back, coughing. It started as a barking sound, then grew more humanlike. He sat up to look at Darcy--still coughing--and she yelped in surprise.

“What?” Rollins said.

“His eyes are still the dogs’ eyes!” she said.

“Those were his original eyes,” Rollins said.

“Oh,” Darcy said. “I’ve never seen a person with eyes like that. Just dogs mostly.”

“He might technically be a dog, if the watercooler gossip is to be believed,” a voice said from the other end of the hallway. Darcy’s head jerked up. Fury was standing there. “Good to have you back, Rumlow.” The man who used to be her dog nodded as he coughed.

“Thanks, director,” Rollins said.

“What does that mean?” Darcy said, once Fury had swept away in his trenchcoat.

“Womanizer,” Rollins supplied. 

“I can talk now,” Rumlow said, suppressing a final cough. “And I’m in this hallway.” He had a New York accent. Darcy stared. “You okay, sweetheart?” he said.

“You don’t sound at all like I thought you’d sound,” she said, standing up with a sigh. He was overcome by another coughing fit. “Sorry about Loki,” she told him and Rollins. “Call me if he gives you anymore trouble.”

“Appreciate your help,” Rollins called. She waved back and stepped on the elevator.

"Hey--" Rumlow coughed, but the doors had shut already.

 

“I’m disappointed he wasn’t really a dog,” she told Jane on the phone that afternoon.

“That explains why he was so well-trained, though,” Jane said, sounding thoughtful. “He had human intelligence.”

“I hope not human memory. I walked around in my underwear,” she said, laughing.

“You do that everywhere,” Jane said.

“True, but these were my rattiest ones. The comfy ones that fall down off my butt like I’m the sunscreen logo girl. This guy is astonishingly cute. Space google him,” she said.

“What’s his name again?”

“Brock Rumlow,” Darcy said. She spelled it for Jane. Jane made a joke about him keeping Darcy’s name instead, then gasped.

“Oh my God, super hottie,” she said.

“Totally,” Darcy admitted. “I guess I flunked pet parenting, though. I can’t go back to the shelter and say I need another dog because my dog turned back into a guy.”

“They’ll think you’re high,” Jane said.

“Maybe I should ask Tony for a robot dog,” Darcy said. 

 

She’d hung up when there was a knock at the door. Darcy looked through the peephole. “Commander Rumlow?” she said, opening the door. He was standing there with a takeout bag and a bottle of wine under his arm. “What are you doing here?” Darcy asked. He grinned. 

“Technically,” he said. “You own me.”

“Wh-what?” Darcy said, flummoxed by his smile.

“You own me,” he repeated, smile widening. “And I don’t mind that at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the eye thing is 50% a joke, 50%...oh em gee:
> 
> https://yespumpkindoodlesthings.tumblr.com/post/186369680078/in-honor-of-doodles-marvel-characters-as-pets


	55. Squishy and Plush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Brittany, @noquirkyurl/Britt1975, after I fangirled about silly plushes and vanilla perfume on tumblr.
> 
> "These are all things I picture Brock buying Darcy because he is stupid in love with her, but they are 'just friends' and Jack busts a gut laughing at him.I could totally go for Pining!Brock, Oblivious!Darcy, and Troll!Jack - feel free to include Brock making up ridiculous excuses to buy her things: "I saw it on our mission and thought you would like it."  
> "You saw a stuffed corgi wearing a unicorn costume during your mission in Kyrgyzstan?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos! This is just one long bit of literal fluff to try and improve my mood.

 

“I’m so depressed,” Darcy said, slumping forward and blowing air through her lips like Mr. Ed. She had terrible PMS, had been dumped by a guy she’d been seeing for several months by text fifteen minutes ago, and her car battery had been dead this morning. She felt tired and just blah. They were sitting at a coffee shop in SHIELD’s new headquarters. Darcy had made Jane come with her; she’d already spilled coffee all down her stomach this morning and didn’t want a repeat of the stain now darkening her favorite blue shirt. 

“Did you look at your student loan balance?” Jane said.

“Don’t say the words!” Darcy wailed. Her cry attracted the attention of the two men exiting the coffee line.

“G’day, Darce, Jane,” Jack Rollins said in his pleasant Australian accent. “Something wrong?”

“She had car trouble this morning,” Brock Rumlow supplied. Jack crooked an eyebrow.

“Brock gave us a ride into work,” Jane said, as Darce put her face on her arms and groaned. They lived in a SHIELD-owned complex with special security for high profile scientists like Jane, including experienced field agents as neighbors.

“Couldn’t jump the battery,” Rumlow said briefly. “Is there something wrong with the car?” His voice was soft. He patted Darcy’s shoulder.

“Something’s wrong with my life!” Darcy huffed dramatically, voice muffled.

“Kevin dumped her,” Jane explained. 

“By text!” Darcy said. “He dumped me by text!”

“Asshole,” Rumlow muttered, rubbing her shoulder. Jack cleared his throat.

“We’ve got a mission in half an hour,” Jack said, “or we’d take you out for a drink tonight.”

“Yeah,” Rumlow said.

“She’ll be fine,” Jane said. “She’s tough stuff.”

“No I’m not,” Darcy said mournfully. “I’m sad and I’m squishy. I just want to eat sugar cookies and go to bed.” She lifted her head. “Jane, I need that expensive cupcake pillow. I neeeeed it.” Her voice was planitive. 

“It’s forty five dollars. And you’re thirty-two!”

“Thirty two isn’t too old for a cupcake pillow, is it?” Darcy said, looking at Rumlow. She blinked at him. “Am I _old?”_

“No,” he said. “You’re a baby.” He tucked a bit of hair behind her ear and looked at her with an unreadable expression.

“Boss,” Jack said. He checked his watch.

“We gotta go,” Brock said seriously, clearing his throat. “You take care, all right? I don’t want to see you all sad when I get back, Lewis.” Darcy nodded. He was using his serious voice. He patted her head.

 

“Jump the battery, is that what they call it now?” Rollins said dryly, as they stepped away to head to the quinjet. 

“Shut up, Jack,” Rumlow told him. 

“Just ask the woman on a date already,” Jack said. “You’re the most bloody irritating smitten man I’ve ever met.”

“What do I do?” Brock said, blinking. He didn’t think he’d been moping too much about Darcy Lewis having a boyfriend. He’d quietly ended a relationship with Sharon Carter several months before. It had been a mutual thing; he’d seen the growing closeness between Sharon and Cameron Klein and suspected they’d get together eventually.. 

“That,” Jack said. “You do that. Blink and stare. Bloody blink and stare.”

“Huh,” Brock said, rubbing his chin. “I did not know that. I blink?” Jack nodded. 

“Too right, you blink. Been blinking at her in all the staff meetings since she and Foster transferred in from Norway,” Jack said. 

“I haven’t asked anybody new out since Cho patched me up,” Rumlow said quietly. Cho had consulted on his Triskelion burns. He’d emerged from her Crade with his old face. He and Jack had been triple agents within HYDRA, then Brock had used his Crossbones alter ego to steal back SHIELD items for Fury. Now they were back on STRIKE Alpha in DC. Jack snorted.

“Really?” he said. “No time like the present.”

“Yeah,” Brock said. “Yeah.”

  
***

Darcy was still pouting in the lab a few days later when Brock Rumlow came walking in with a massive cupcake-shaped pillow under his arm. Jane looked up and grinned.  “Hey,” he said. “Jane, how’s science?” 

“Good,” she said. He’d already moved to Darcy’s desk. 

“Romanoff told me you were still feeling down, sweetheart.” He sat down the cupcake plush in her lap.

“Oh my God,” Darcy squealed. “I love it! How did you know?”

“Picked it up on the mission,” Brock said.

“You picked that up on a mission in Laos?” Jane said. Darcy was busy squeezing the plush and cooing.

“We stopped at an airport. It was duty free,” he said, eyes never leaving Darcy’s face. She was patting the cupcake. It filled her lap.

“It’s sooooooo cute, Brock!” Darcy said. 

“Duty free?” Jane whispered. 

“I did good, huh?” he asked Darcy.

“Totally,” she said. “You did _perfect.”_

“Perfect, huh?” he said. “Well, in that case---” The rest of sentence was interrupted by a page over the building’s announcement system, piped directly into Jane’s lab. 

“Commander Rumlow to Director Fury’s office,” a voice said. Brock rolled his eyes up to the ceiling and sighed.

“I gotta go,” he said. “But you have fun, okay?”

 

“He is so nice,” Darcy said, sighing wistfully. She watched him look over his shoulder through the lab’s glass walls as he walked away.

“Nice?” Jane said wryly.

“Uh-huh--what’s that face for?” She’d caught Jane’s skeptical expression.

“He wants to ask you out,” Jane said. “It’s wildly obvious.”

“No, I think he dates Sharon Carter, someone told me when we first moved here,” Darcy said. “She’s so lucky.” Darcy looked down at her cupcake plush. It was huge and soft. “I’m jelly of her, to be honest.”

“Are you sure?” Jane said.

“He’s just nice like that. Jack told me once that he got those tattoos in Thailand and now he sponsors some kids who are in a fight school over there,” Darcy said.

“A fight school?” Jane said.

“Yeah, I don’t get it either, but apparently he sends money so these kids have enough money for food. All their fight winnings help support their families,” Darcy explained.

“I hope your fancy cupcake isn’t some poor kid’s lunch money,” Jane teased.

“Shut up!” Darcy said. “Don’t ruin it with guilt!” She patted the top of the cupcake. “What should I name her?”

“It’s a girl?” Jane said.

“She’s squishy and plush, like me,” Darcy said. “What do you think of the name Sadie Cupcake?”

 

 

***

“What are you smiling about, mate?” Jack said. Brock was looking at a text message and beaming. He rarely beamed at work.

“Darcy’s named her cupcake,” Brock said. They were leaving Fury’s office for another mission, this time in the Midwest. Barton was going to meet them. Natasha fell in with the two men in the hallway, steps fluid. 

“She enjoys naming things,” she said. 

“You told her?” Brock said. He and Sharon hadn’t spread around word of their breakup to avoid Natasha’s compulsive matchmaking.

“He cannot keep things from me,” Nat said. 

“What is it called? The cupcake?” Jack said, dodging the question.

“Sadie Cupcake.”

“Have you asked her to dinner?” Nat asked.

“Nope,” Jack said. “He keeps going bloody chicken.”

“I was interrupted. Fury paged me,” Brock explained. “You know any places she might enjoy going? Fun places, nowhere stuffy?” Nat tilted her head and smiled.

“You _are_ serious,” she said. He grimaced a little.

 “He’s seriously gone on her, he is,” Jack said. “I can’t believe it’s taken you this long to make a move.”

“Yeah, well,” Brock said. “She had that boyfriend, what’s his name. I didn’t want to interfere if she was happy.”

“It’s kinda sweet,” Natasha said. “I’ve only ever seen you this focused when you were shooting at someone.” Brock nodded. 

“I’m focused,” he said firmly. His voice turned more tentative. “I don’t want to pressure her, though, if she’s having a bad time and needs a little space. Maybe she’d like another one of those stuffed animal things?”

“Another one?” Nat said, frowning. She did not consider children’s toys appropriate romantic overtures, unless you had won a target shooting contest. Then maybe.

 

They were still debating Rumlow’s next step during the mission. Nat and Clint were repelling down the side of a building in Chicago. “Have you thought about a penguin plush and a trip to the zoo?” Clint suggested over comms. “Lila loved that.” Rumlow heard him as he and Rollins ascended a stairwell.

“When she was eight,” Nat said archly.

“Penguins?” Rollins said.

“Well, Darcy’s into kid things, too,” Clint said. 

“It is not romantic to do things for children--” Nat began, before Brock spoke again.

“Don’t veto the penguin idea,” he said. “I think she’s got penguin pajamas on in her last Instagram, I’ll have to check. She might like to see the penguins.”

“You been checking out her pajamas?” Rollins said wryly. He kicked open a door. Brock grimaced as somebody tried to attack Jack and was felled by a quick shot.

“She still seems down,” Brock said. “I gotta keep it light.” He took down a guy who rushed them.

“You need cover?” Clint said.

“No, we got ‘em,” Brock said.

“I mean on your date!” Clint said. “I volunteer as third wheel. I like penguins.”

“I will not allow you to do that,” Nat told him sternly.

“You can’t stop me,” Clint insisted. “I’m a grown man. I can go to the zoo.”

 

***

“How did you know I love penguins?” Darcy said. She smiled at Brock. He was _so_ nice. He’d invited her to go on a trip to the zoo in Baltimore. Sharon must not have been able to come, she thought. Probably working on a critical mission.

“Barton told me,” Brock said. Darcy nodded.

“I think it’s so sweet of you to bring everybody along like this,” she said to him. Natasha and Clint were walking ahead of them towards the penguin pool. 

“I don’t think I had a choice, the man loves penguins,” Brock said. Darcy laughed. Ahead of them, Clint whooped and took off, pursued by Nat. Darcy knew Clint got sad when he was away from Laura and the kids. It was really kind of Brock to plan this to distract them, especially if he was missing Sharon himself. She had been down, too. “Something wrong?” Brock said softly. 

“It’s no big thing,” Darcy said. She hesitated. “I’ve just felt out of sorts recently. I’m old and tired,” she joked.

“No, you’re not,” he said. “If you’re old, I’m fucking ancient, sweetheart.”

“How old are you?” She was curious. “Forty? Forty-one?” He started to laugh and shook his head.

“I wish. I’m one hundred and nine, babygirl,” he said. 

“You don’t look a day over forty,” she told him. “And I know some really attractive Asgardians who are, like, one thousand and something.”

“Good, it’ll make me feel young to hang around your friends,” he said. He scrunched his nose a little.

“What?” she said.

“I’m fifty,” he said.

“You’re kidding,” she squealed. “Fifty?”

“Ouch,” he said. 

“But you’re in such good shape,” she said, squeezing him. “Look at your arms!” She poked his bicep. 

“Okay, better,” he said. “My feelings are less bruised. What are you doing?” She was prying up his shirt sleeve.

“I’m being nosy about your cool tattoos,” she said. “I like this one. This definitely doesn’t look like a tattoo your average fifty year old guy has, it’s very pretty..”

“The tattoo is, uh, three, I think?” he said. “It’s a toddler.” Darcy laughed at him. “Here’s those penguins.” They stood along the rail, watching the penguins play in the water and do tricks for food. Darcy realized Rumlow was smiling at her. 

“Thanks again for my cupcake,” she said. “It sleeps with me now. Every night.”

“That’s, uh, good,” he said, swallowing. But Darcy didn’t notice.

“Ahhhhh!’ Darcy shrieked. A penguin had done a particularly acrobatic flip. “Go buddy!”

“This is awesome,” Clint said, shouldering in next to him. “Did you see that little dude?”

“Yes!” Darcy said. “I’m in love with him.” Nat came up and leaned against the railing.

“They are children,” Nat said. Darcy caught Brock’s wry, smiling shrug. 

“Brock doesn’t mind,” she told Nat.

“Yeah, Tasha, don’t be a killjoy,” Clint said. He whooped at the penguins again. “Oh, man, they do yoga here? We shoulda done that!” There was a sign about a yoga class that took place near the penguin enclosure.

“Since when you do yoga?” Nat said.

“I have interests,” Clint said defensively.

 

“I can’t believe you bought me a penguin plush,” Darcy said an hour or two later. She’d been planning on buying one for herself, but Brock had insisted. Now she was toting it around as they looked at the flamingoes.

“I appreciated you coming with me,” he said. 

“But Clint would have come with you,” Darcy pointed out. Clint was off pouting; Darcy suspected he was jealous of her penguin. Natasha had refused to buy him one. “Should I buy him a flamingo?” she wondered out loud. 

“We can do that,” Brock said. “And, uh, I’m not sure Barton is as fun as you.”

“Now you’re just lying to cheer me up,” Darcy said, smiling at him. “Clint is way more fun than me. I’m ninety percent sure he might be banned from several zoos for trying to adopt a giraffe.” They met Clint as they were walking. “Didn’t you try to free a giraffe at the zoo?”

“Naw,” Clint said. “It was a pig at a petting zoo. They weren’t treating him right.” Darcy nodded.

“Did you want a flamingo plush?” she offered.

“Tasha won’t buy me one,” he said.

“We will,” Darcy said.

“We who?” Clint said. “You and him?”

“Yeah,” Brock said, rubbing her shoulder. Clint grinned.

“Sure, I’ll take your money.”  

 

***

“Jane, Brock is so nice,” Darcy said, as they sat on the couch the next night. They were watching a Marilyn Monroe movie. It was one of her coping mechanisms. She snapped a photo of her cupcake and penguin next to her and sent it to Brock with the caption, _the penguin needs a name._

“You’ve said that a million times,” Jane said, peering at her toenails. She dabbed one with glitter polish.  

“Have I? We had fun yesterday,” Darcy said. “We went to a Chinese place with Nat and Clint. I think you’d like it.  He let me have his wontons.”

“His what?” Jane cracked.

“Shut up,” Darcy said. “It was a great day.”

“It sounds like a great date, too.”

“I wish,” Darcy said, sighing. “Sharon is so lucky. Oh my God, I forgot to tell you--he’s fifty!”

“He doesn’t look fifty,” Jane said.

“Nooooo. He has these really cool tattoos--”

“You were checking out a taken man’s tattoos?” Jane’s voice was wry.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. Her phone dinged. He’d replied to her photo. “Awww, he sent an emoji!”

“An eggplant?” Jane said, smirking.

“I will slap you and smudge your toes,” Darcy said. She paused, momentarily distracted. “He sent a smiley face.”

“Okay, stop staring at that--oh my God, you’re looking at his gym selfies! You naughty oogler!” Jane said, cackling gleefully. She snatched the phone. “Oooooh.”

“Pffffhhhht,” Darcy said, curling up with her cupcake pillow to watch Marilyn struggling without her glasses. “I wish they still made rhinestone glasses like that.”

“Yeah, you like fifty year old things,” Jane teased. 

“Just for that, I’m not telling Thor to take you to the sip and stroll thing at the zoo, bitch,” Darcy sassed back. “What are you looking at?”

“Are you sure he’s with Sharon? Because he’s liked all your photos?” Jane said. 

“Yeah, but Clint’s in them,” Darcy said.

“You don’t want to bring up that you find him hot--”

“Jane!”

“What? I’m just suggesting that you tell him _verbally_ that you get along well enough that you’d date him if he were single, so if Sharon runs off with Steve or something, you can swoop in to comfort him,” Jane said. “I’m not saying you flash him. Unless…”

“Yeah, right,” Darcy said. “Like anyone would leave _him.”_ She paused and watched the screen. “Is Sharon more attractive than me? She’s definitely really fit--” she asked.

“You’re totally contemplating stealing her man!” Jane yelled triumphantly. “I see you!” She pointed with Darcy’s phone.

“Noooooo,” Darcy said. “I just wish I could meet someone exactly like him, only single.” She sighed.

“Flashing him might work,” Jane said thoughtfully. “He hangs around all these sweaty fighters, I’m not sure Sharon’s really a good fit. She seems too, um, refined for that. Like she’d go to barre class.”

“But me and my huge boobs aren’t refined and sophisticated?” Darcy said, incredulous.

“Well, he’s very masculine, you’re very feminine, it works. Remember when you had that whole theory about the Rock’s performative masculinity being fun and nonthreatening, like a male version of Dolly Parton’s exaggerated femininity?”

“You were paying attention when I said that?” Darcy said.

“I pay attention!”

“So, he’s the Rock and I’m Dolly Parton in this analogy?” Darcy said. 

“Yeah,” Jane said, nodding.

“I wish they’d do a movie together,” Darcy said. “Dolly could be the Rock’s aunt or something. It would be sweet. He could go talk to her for advice--”

“Not the point, Darce.”

 

***

“What are you looking at?” Jack asked Brock. He sat down next to him at the edge of the mat in SHIELD’s gym and wiped the sweat from his neck. They were training new agents. “You’re smiling.”

“She wants my help naming the penguin,” Brock said, “we’ve got choices going. She made a list.”

“What are you picking, mate?”

“I’m voting for Mozzarella,” Brock said.

“Mozzarella?” Jack’s voice was incredulous. “What kind of name is that for a penguin?”

“Perfectly good Italian name,” Brock said. “It’s a stuffed animal. It’s not like I’ll be calling it. I’ve got her another one, too. Comes in a few days.”

“What kind of thing is it now?” Jack said dryly.

“A corgi in a unicorn suit,” Brock said. Jack rolled his eyes. “But I need to give her the grilled cheese one first.”

“The grilled cheese?”

“It came while we were gone,” Brock said.

“Why don’t you just ask her out for a bloody grilled cheese?” Jack said.

“Go hit an agent, Grumpy Kangaroo,” Brock told him. He was having a good time.

 

***

“You bought me a grilled cheese pillow?” Darcy said, sounding delighted. He’d walked into the lab carrying it in his arms. She had turned in her chair and lit up when she saw him.

“I did, sweetheart, I thought Mozzarella and Sadie needed a friend,” he said, kneeling down to put the triangle shaped plush in her lap. It was as wide as she was. Darcy beamed. From behind her equipment, Jane muffled a snort.

“Oh my God, where did you find him?” Darcy asked.

“Picked him up on a mission.”

“I thought you were in Uzbekistan? You found a grilled cheese pillow there?” Darcy said.

“It’s amazing the things you can find when you’re motivated. What do you want to call him?” Brock asked.

“You’re the best,” Darcy told him. “I really should do something for you. Is there anything you want?” She looked up at him with an innocent expression. 

“Me?” He smirked slowly. “There’s lots of things I could think of, sweetheart.” 

“Do you want your own pillow?”

“My own pillow?” Brock said. He blinked. 

“I should get you one. Can you bring it on missions?” she said.

 

Behind her equipment, Jane had to hide her giggling. When he left, she looked at Darcy. “He wants on your pillow!” she yelled.

“What?” Darcy said.

“He said _there’s lots of things I could think of?_ C’mon, Darce!”

“Don’t be silly. Nobody buys grilled cheese pillows for someone for erotic purposes,” Darcy said seriously. “He’s a good friend. I should have him over sometime.” She fussed over the pillow; she’d put it in the chair next to her.

“Right,” Jane said.

“I don’t need to delude myself into thinking there’s more there because he’s being kind, it’s unfeminist. Aren’t you always saying men and woman can be friends? And that it’s sexist to presume romantic interest because it doesn’t support male-female friendships?” Darcy pointed out. 

“Yeah,” Jane admitted glumly. “I did.”

“So, I need to be a friend and not drool over him too much,” Darcy said. “Sharon’s lucky, though. Imagine the nice things he buys her.” Darcy sighed. “Probably jewelry. She looks fancy like that.”

“Yup,” Jane said. “Diamonds, probably. What are you doing?”

“Texting Brock,” Darcy said. She’d invited him to dinner. “I’m telling him to bring anyone special he wants to, too.”

“You’re inviting him and Sharon?” Jane said.

“Sure,” Darcy said.

 

***

“How do you like your pizza?” Darcy said. She hadn’t anticipated that his diet would be so strict, but he seemed happy. 

“It’s good. I’m used to cheese-free pizza,” Brock said. He was practically beaming at her. It made her feel a little breathless. _Calm down,_ she told herself. _He’s not into you._ She’d said he could bring anyone he wanted, thinking he’d bring Sharon, but he’d shown up alone. Well, not quite alone: he’d brought her a plush corgi in a unicorn outfit. It was adorable. She’d actually squealed. 

“Well, I’m paying tonight,” she clarified, “because you’ve done all this stuff for me.”

“I like doing stuff for you,” he said, leaning forward a little. “It’s been great practice for the baby my sister is having.” He sounded playful. She laughed.

“Okay, fine, I deserved that,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

“How’d you get into the, uh, big fluffy stuffed animals?” he said. 

“Well, that’s a long story,” Darcy said. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“I’ve got all night,” he said. He clasped his hands together and smiled at her.

“Okay,” Darcy said, waving her hands around. “Sit tight. To start, you have to know that I wasn’t a _science_ science girl at Culver. I majored in political science. I sort of fell into Jane’s internship by accident because I needed the credits and I’d worked on campus, so my old boss in Student Services recommended me to her. Because I’m, you know, Sarcastic Suzy Creamcheese.”

“Sarcastic Suzy Creamcheese?” he said, raising an eyebrow.

“Good with people and nurturing, but also sarcasm,” Darcy explained. She scrunched her nose. His smile widened. “They thought I could survive being underfunded and isolated without letting Jane go feral? That’s the beginning of the story.” Brock barked out a laugh.

“Gotcha. What next?” he said.

“Well, Thor, London, Dark Elves, and Ian,” she ticked off her fingers.

“Ian?”

“Ian, who was a real science intern and my boyfriend. We used to be engaged,” she said, looking down at her pizza. “He encouraged me to apply to this very competitive graduate program, so I could be a real astrophysics assistant,” Darcy explained. “Learn the science stuff.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said.

“Somehow--probably Jane’s letter, because at this point, she’s a known genius--I get in,” Darcy said. “Even though my bachelor’s degree is 100% unrelated.”

“Great,” he said. She laughed bitterly. 

“You’d think so, right? Only I didn’t realize how competitive and intense it was going to be. I was just overwhelmed, trying to get a basic grasp on everything, and everyone, I think, expected me to be a superstar. Jane 2.0 or something?” Brock frowned.

“That doesn’t sound like a good time,” he said.

“Exactly. I was still working for Jane, but my professors thought I needed remedial coursework, so they made me take more undergrad classes. I was drowning in work. A horrible, miserable, stressed out time. Also, my relationship with Ian was shaky, because he couldn’t understand how I couldn’t understand the coursework,” she said, sighing. “We would try to work on my homework together and just end up in these huge fights. It was awful.” Darcy looked down. “One night, he just started yelling at me about the homework and how ridiculous I was being in saying I didn’t understand and then added in this rant about the stuffed animals I kept on the bed and how it was past time for me to grow up.” Darcy sighed. “So, we cuss each other out and stuff. But it just eats at me and all I can think about is how I’m the dumbest person in the room everywhere I go and how everyone knows it. And then I did an exceptionally stupid thing: I gave away all my stuffed animals to a charity store. Jane tried to stop me, but I was trying to be a grown up, you know? I’d had a bunch of them since I was little.” Darcy heard her voice break. She looked up, feeling overwhelmed by emotion. She hadn’t told this story to anyone but her relatives. Brock was glaring across the table. 

 

“What?” Darcy said, alarmed.

“Where is he?” Brock said. “Because I’m going to go shoot him.” That made her laugh.

“He’s doing observations in the Arctic, I think?” Darcy said, smiling through her tears. “Anyhow, I only lasted two semesters before Jane staged an intervention and told me I didn’t need to do all that to be her assistant and she didn’t like how depressed I seemed. About a week later, I caught Ian cheating with the girl he’s engaged to now. She was a real science scientist. It was a rough time.” Brock looked thoughtful. 

“I could land a quinjet in the Arctic,” he said. “They’d never find his body. Romanoff would probably help me.”

“Cut it out,” she said, laughing. “Anyway, I couldn’t get my old stuffed animals back, even if you did kill him. I’m sure some kids are loving them now, which is nice. But I came home one day and Jane had gotten me a replacement unicorn to cheer me up.”

“That was smart of her,” Brock said. 

“That’s also when I decided to say fuck you to all that being serious stuff and just enjoy the things I actually enjoy,” Darcy said. 

“And I called you a baby like a fucking moron,” he said, looking guilty. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I own my babiness now,” she told him, smiling. She patted his wrist across the table and he looked down at her hand for a minute. “I basically love everything I loved at fourteen,” she said. “Plushes, makeup, cheap vanilla perfume.” 

“So, Jane’s not opposed to stuffed animals in theory?” Brock said, looking back up when she moved her hand back.

“No, she just thinks Squishables are too pricey. We lived on the bare minimum for so long, she has trouble spending money now. She wants to hoard all her gold in case we fall on hard times again,” Darcy said. “She thinks you’re spoiling me.” He laughed at that and Darcy smiled.

“What else do you like?” he said.

“No, no, I’ve monopolized the conversation enough! You tell me what you like,” she said. He shrugged.

“Boxing,” he said. “I like boxing.”

“To watch or to do?” she said.

“Actually boxing,” he said. “Watching’s good, though. I watch a match now and again. But there’s nothing like actually being in the ring.”

“You like getting hit?” she said. 

“It’s very physical, very immediate,” he said, gesturing. “I’ve been boxing since I was sixteen, seventeen. You gotta get close to your opponent, really make yourself vulnerable to be able to win. It’s not just brute force, there’s strategy. You gotta be able to weigh your risks in the moment,” Brock explained. ”And mentally”--he tapped his forehead--”if you’re not prepared, things go sideways fast. You have to be there one-hundred percent.”

“That sounds intense,” Darcy said. “Ahhhh!” She smiled at him. “You’re intense.” 

“Not always,” he said, gaze shifting from serious to smiling again. “I try to save it for work and the gym.”

“How can you stand my boring zoo outings?” Darcy wondered. 

 “I like those,” he said. His voice was insistent. It gave Darcy an idea.

“What if we watched some boxing together?” she asked.

“You’d do that with me?” he said. Darcy thought his smile couldn’t actually get any wider, but she was surprised.

“As long as I can hide my face if it gets too graphic,” she said. “When’s a good one? Isn’t that usually a pay-per-view thing?”

“I’ll figure something out,” he said. 

 

 

***

“I can’t believe you’re going to watch a fight with him,” Jane said, as they went into work the next morning. “You hide your face during horror movies!”

“He says that’s okay,” Darcy said. They were rounding a corner when she stumbled slightly. Brock was standing in the glass-walled room where the Analytics staff worked. He was leaning over, talking to Sharon. She had a report or something, Darcy saw. He peered over Sharon’s shoulder, smiling and pointing at something. They looked cozy. Darcy’s heart sank a little. _It’s fine,_ she thought. _He has a girlfriend. I know he has a girlfriend. I’m okay with that. We’re just friends._

“Darce,” Jane said softly, when she started walking again. Brock didn’t see them as they walked by.

“Shhh,” Darcy said. She didn’t want to be overheard. They got on the elevator. The doors shut. It was just the two of them. She looked at her feet. “We’re just friends,” Darcy said. “That wasn’t a big deal.”

“Okay,” Jane said quietly. “But I saw your face.”

“It just surprised me, that’s all,” Darcy said. “I thought she was out of town.”

“Why?” Jane said.

“He didn’t bring her to dinner,” Darcy said.

“If he tries anything funny during that fight, knee him in the balls,” Jane said grimly. “And take your taser.”

“He wouldn’t,” Darcy said. “He’s so nice to me, you don’t understand.”

“You keep saying that,” Jane said, as they stepped off the elevator. Darcy sighed.

“Yeah,” she said. “I know.”

 

***

Darcy’s heart was beating quickly as she walked up to the door of Brock’s apartment. She was nervous. Why was she nervous? This was stupid, she thought. But she was too far in now. It was too late to cancel. She studied his front porch. To her surprise, there were plants in a pot out front. She thought it might be herbs, actually. Rosemary? Basil? She couldn’t keep stuff like that alive. She was bending slightly to touch them when the door opened. “Hey,” Brock said brightly. He was wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. He opened the door wider so she could step inside and that was when Darcy realized he had a cordless phone to his ear.  “I’ll be just a sec,” he said, gesturing with the phone. “Have a seat. This is Sharon.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. She watched his bare feet move as he walked into the kitchen.

“Shar,” he was saying warmly, “you got this, okay? You know you can. Just make the call. What are the odds he’ll say no?” Darcy heard him laugh. “That’s bullshit, Sharon. Don’t chicken out now. You got this. C’mon, say it with me. That’s right. And if he says no, you punch him in the face.” 

 

Darcy shuffled over to the couch and sighed quietly. He was such a great boyfriend to Sharon, that much was obvious. 

“Hey,” he said, coming around the corner. “Sorry about that. I got popcorn. Regular people popcorn,” he said jokingly. “And some of these godawful Cheetos things.” He was carrying bowls.

“For me?” Darcy said, grinning in spite of herself. He knew she liked junk food?

“I asked Romanoff what normal people eat,” he said. Sitting them down, he smiled at her. “She said you like Diet Coke?”

“Yup,” Darcy said. 

“I’m going to get that,” he said. “Take your shoes off if you feel like it. I’m a no shoes at home guy.”

“Yeah?” Darcy said, leaning her head back against the couch to watch him walk away. He half looked back at her. 

“Descended from peasants and sailors,” he joked. He returned with her Diet Coke and Darcy tried not to stare at his bare legs. He was tanned. He sank down next to her and put his arm over the couch back. “So,” he said. “You ready for your first real fight?” Darcy nodded. She was trying not to focus on how close he was. She’d never been quite this close to him, at least not alone. He smelled clean, like good soap. His hair was wet. He’d probably just taken a shower.

“How does it start?” she said, swallowing a little.

“Okay, so this is a big deal fight. Hern versus Connelly, they’re both welterweight world champions--”

“What?” Darcy said.

“It’s a size class. One-forty to one hundred and forty-seven pounds,” Brock said. 

“They’re that little? I thought fighters were huge,” Darcy said. “That’s barely bigger than me!”

“It’s lean,” Brock said. “They’re lean guys.”

“All right,” Darcy said. “So, are they not tall?”

“Eh, like Hern is five-six, Connelly’s five-five,” Brock said. 

“Tiny! Baby fighters!” she said. He shook his head at her expression.

“But they’re scrappers. Connelly’s close to retirement, Hern is only thirty. He wants to knock out somebody established, make his bona fides.”

“Huh,” Darcy said. “But they’re so little.”

“What, little guys can’t fight?” He smirked at her. “I ain’t the biggest guy, you ought to be careful,” he teased. His tilted his head and made a serious face at her. For some reason, that made Darcy lose it. She got the church giggles

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” she said between bursts of laughter. He gave her an even more intimidating look. That made it worse. “I’m--I’m sure that works,” she gasped, “really well on bad guys.”

“Uh huh,” he said, face composed into a mock stare. He blinked at her. 

 

She was still giggling when the pre-match commentary started. Brock put a bowl in her lap as she laughed intermittently. “Eat your Cheetos, Miss Giggles,” he told her, smiling. It was embarrassing to be covered into orange Cheetos dust, but she had to eat to keep from looking at him. It gave her nervous hands something to do. Also, she was sure that he was sitting really close to her. He seemed to get closer and closer as the evening went on. She didn’t think he noticed, because he was so intently focused on the TV screen. “Oh my fucking God,” he said, leaning forward and covering his face. “This is fucking agony, baby.” His leg rested against her thigh. He jiggled it up and down nervously. “Connelly is gonna kill him.” The fighters on screen circled each other, fists raised.

“That can’t actually happen, can it?” Darcy said. “Nobody really dies, right?”

“No,” he said. He looked at her. “I mean, sometimes people get the shit kicked out of them, but you know, people actually dying, that’s decades ago.”

“Eeeep,” Darcy said. “That is not a fun sentence, Brock Rumlow.”

“It’s not?” he said jokingly, then his head swiveled as something happened onscreen. “Shit. Shit, did you see that?” One of the fighters had stumbled.

“Yes,” Darcy said, “Big punch. Hard punch.” 

“Sure,” he said, sounding cheery. “Badass punch.” He put his arm back over her shoulder. She felt his hand pet the back of her head. Darcy almost choked on her Cheeto. His hand moved down and behind her hair to rub the back of her neck. She inhaled sharply. What was she supposed to do? Knee him, like Jane had suggested? She couldn’t. Also, she didn’t really want to, which was the problem. “Oh, c’mon. The referee is shit,” he said, releasing her neck. Darcy started to breathe normally again. She looked at him. He was intently staring at the boxers. His face was horrified. Brock winced as his preferred fighter took a brutal hit.

“Ouch,” she said. Darcy munched on a Cheeto.

 

The match was over when he looked at her and sighed. “I love this sport, but it wrecks me,” he said. Then he smiled. “You got orange stuff, baby.” He reached out and ran his thumb over the corner of her lip. Darcy could feel herself blushing. She leaned into his touch. He looked at her intently, dark eyes focused.

“You’ve got green flecks in your eyes,” she whispered. 

“Yeah?” He tilted his head down, closer to her.

“Pretty eyes,” Darcy said softly, dropping her gaze. She couldn’t help but linger on his mouth. He grinned. Then he kissed her. It was a soft kiss, but she sighed and that must’ve encouraged him. She felt his tongue flick against her lips. That brought her out of her passive state. She scrambled for more, jamming her mouth against his in her eagerness. It was awkward and a little fumbling. She was kissing like a dazed, inexperienced kid, she realized. But he didn’t seem to mind. He sucked gently at her top lip. She felt fingers gripping her shirt and he pulled her into his lap. His hold was tight. Darcy tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging. Then she ran her hands down his neck and dotted kisses across his jaw. He groaned. 

“Baby,” he said. “You’re killing me.” She opened her eyes and realized what she’d done.

“We shouldn’t have done that,” Darcy whispered.

“Too soon?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she said. She wiggled. His arms tightened.

“Don’t go,” he said. “Stay. Don’t go nowhere.” She shook her head.

“I have to,” Darcy said, licking her lips. She needed to leave. Before she did something even more stupid.

“One more,” he said, leaning in to kiss her again.

“A little one,” she said, nodding. “Just—just one more.”

 

“He touched your neck and kissed you?” Jane said. Darcy had called her as soon as she left Brock’s apartment.

“He hugged me and said he had a nice time, too,” Darcy admitted in a low voice. “He walked me to my car.”

“Oh, that asshole!” 

“I liked it!” Darcy wailed. “I’m a total trash panda!”

“You’re not a trash panda, he’s wooing you with grilled cheese pillows and popcorn and neck touching, this is on him,” Jane said firmly. “That’s practically sex bribery.”

“Does he want me as some sort of sidepiece?” Darcy wondered. “Like, his Thursday night chick?”

“Chick?” Jane said.

“That’s what those guys say,” Darcy said. “He called me baby tonight, though. I liked that, too. Ughhhhh, I hate myself sometimes.”

“Ugh,” Jane said. 

“I--I just need to avoid him. Can we put the lab on some sort of hazmat lockdown?” Darcy said. “I need you to hide me until I regain control of my mouth.”

“Your mouth?”

“And my hands.”

 

***

“I don’t know what the fuck is going on,” Brock said. “I thought things were going well.” He sighed and rolled back in his office chair. “I moved too damn fast, maybe? She’s been really vague on texts--”

“In texts?” Jack corrected wryly.

“Fuck you, Jack.”

“Why don’t you go see her at lunch?” he asked.

“Because Foster’s lab is on some sort of secured materials lockdown,” Brock grumbled. “I already asked. They’re eating lunch up there and working late all week.”

“There you go,” Jack said.

“What?” Brock said.

“She’s busy, you bloody fool, she has a job, too,” Jack said. 

“Maybe I should wait for her to text me?” Brock said. He raked his fingers through his hair and looked at the ceiling. They didn’t have a mission on schedule yet. It gave him too much time to think. He’d been thinking about her constantly. He turned.

“Yeah, wait for her to call you.” Jack said, hiding his grin. Brock had already picked up the desk phone and was dialing. A voice picked up on the other end.

“Jane Foster’s lab,” Darcy said.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Brock said.

“Oh, hi, Brock,” Darcy stammered. 

“You doing okay? It sounds like you guys have been busy--”

“Oh, yeah, super busy,” she said. “Very busy.” She sounded nervous. Why did she sound nervous? Did she think he was upset? Or was she upset?

“Listen, if I overstepped the other night, I want to apologize,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm and casual. “Maybe I shouldn’t have--”

“Exactly,” Darcy said, voice odd. “I think we should just, you know, forget it ever happened, for everybody’s sake. Just forget about it.”

“Forget about it?” he said, heart sinking. She just wanted to be friends, obviously. Fuck. Fuck. “Okay,” he said, still inwardly sinking. “Well, uh, whenever you get out of lockdown, I’ll take you to lunch, all right?”

“Sure,” she said, sounding wistful. He hung up. Looked at the phone on the desk. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“You want to go hit things?” Jack asked.

“Yeah,” Brock said. “Let’s do that.”

 

***

“I kept you away from him for a week and now you’re having dinner?” Jane said. Darcy was slinging her bag over her shoulder. She frowned.

“He asked, I couldn’t say no,” Darcy said, sighing. “So, I’m going. If it’s too painful, I’ll ask for a break or something.”

“A break?”

“I miss him, Jane,” she said.

“Just tell him to leave Sharon already, okay?” Jane said. “Do an ultimatum. People do those.”

“Wildly dysfunctional people,” Darcy said. 

“You’re the one who misses him!” Jane called as she waved goodbye and trotted out of the lab. Jane looked at her paperwork. They’d worked so late this week, she had time to play with theorems. She doodled for awhile and then looked at her empty mug. “I guess I’m getting my own coffee,” Jane muttered. She got up to go to the nearest breakroom. 

“Hi, Jane,” Cameron Klein said. “Where’s Darcy?”

“Uh, she left early?” Jane said. He grinned. 

“Date with Rumlow?” he asked.

“Wh-what?” Jane said. “How did you know?”

“Oh, Sharon and I have been going out---”

“What?” Jane shrieked. Cam looked momentarily frightened. He’d jumped when she yelled. “You’ve been going out with Sharon? But I thought she and Brock were--were together?” Jane said slowly. 

“They broke up weeks and weeks ago,” Cam said.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Jane yelled. She hugged Cameron. “I need to call Darcy! Thank you!”

“Okay?” he said, as she ran out of the break room. “But you forgot your coffee!” he called. 

 

Darcy was walking up to a restaurant near work when her phone dinged. There was a series of rapid text notifications. _Ding. Ding. Ding._ She was going to get her phone when she looked through the glass and saw Sharon sitting with Brock. “Oh, no. Oh, no.” She was not prepared for this. Her face would give her away. Her face showed everything when she was emotional. She sighed, forgetting the text, and seized the restaurants’ door handle. She would go in, be polite, and never fucking talk to him again. She walked inside holding her breath.

“Hey!” Brock said, brightening as soon as he saw her. He half stood. Sharon leaned out of the booth and waved, then got up.

“Darcy,” she said. To Darcy’s surprise, she gave her a hug.

“Hi,” Darcy said, face muffled in Sharon’s shoulder. 

“It’s so great to see you!” Sharon said. “Brock talks about you all the time.” She grinned down at Darcy. Darcy had no idea what to say. 

“Um, that’s very...nice? He’s very nice to me,” she said. 

“You guys have fun,” she said. “I’m off on my hot Friday night date. See you both at work!” She laughed and then departed. Darcy stared after her and then at Brock.

“She’s kidding, right?” Darcy said. She sat down slowly. Brock shrugged.

“I dunno if I’d call Cam Klein a hot guy, but she seems happy,” he said. “I’m happy for her. You want some wine?”

“What?” Darcy said.

“You drink more wine than red, right? But I think you’d like this one--” he was saying to her utter confusion, when her phone rang.

“Sorry,” Darcy said. “It’s Jane. Hello?”

“Darce!” Jane yelled. “Check your texts.”

“Ow, Jane. Why? I’m with Brock--”

“He and Sharon broke up weeks ago. I confirmed. She’s dating Cameron Klein--”

“What?” Darcy repeated. She stared at Brock.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

“I asked around, I’m pretty sure you and Brock have been dating all this time. Jack says he’s losing his mind, you need to actually talk to him--” Jane was saying rapidly. Darcy felt momentarily dizzy.

“Hey, hey,” Brock was suddenly at her elbow. “You all right? You look like you could faint.”

“You and Sharon broke up?” Darcy said.

“Yeah, months ago,” he said. “You didn’t know?” She shook her head. 

“I--I thought you were just being nice to me,” she said. “And I was leading you astray.”

“Sweetheart, I have never been that nice in my entire life,” Brock said, laughing. “You feel okay?” She nodded. He picked up her phone. “Hey, Jane. Yeah, she’s okay. We’re getting it sorted--you hid her from me? That’s just mean, Foster.” He rubbed Darcy’s shoulder with his other hand. She stared at him. When he hung up, he smiled. “You hungry?” he said.

“Can--can we have dinner at your apartment?” she said, trying not to turn bright red. He grinned.

“You’re blushing,” he said.

“I don’t think I want to sit here for an hour and a half without kissing you again,” Darcy said, looking at him expectantly. “I can leave a tip for the waitress.” They hadn’t ordered anything yet.

“I’ll get my car,” he said, smirking. 

 

When she met him outside, there was a plush latte in the front seat. “Awwwwww,” she said, climbing in and putting it in her lap.

“You like him?” Brock said. She nodded.

“You are getting so much sex this weekend,” Darcy said, grinning. “Like, Fury might not want you back after I break your brain and render you unfit for work.” He laughed. 

“You promise?” he said. “I can live with that.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Squishables are so cute, but $: https://www.squishable.com/mm5/merchant.mvc?Screen=CTGY&Category_Code=comfort_food


	56. Nothing for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this ficlet is a continuation of my 1920s no-powers AU, "Blood Moon, Dry County," where Darcy and Jane are lady scientists in NM, Rumlow is a bootlegger, and Thor is a Prohibition agent: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18323729/chapters/43375352. 
> 
> Things...do not go well for Darcy. This is set slightly after the end of that story. I've had the last scene rattling around in my head for months, giving me the business, so I decided to actually write it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

New York City, 1927

 

Jane was working in her new Stark laboratory when Darcy left. “Where are you going?” Jane asked, when she saw her walk by with her hat on. 

“I’m going to see a friend who lives here now,” Darcy said smoothly. “Just for coffee. She’s having a baby.”

“Enjoy yourself,” Jane said.

“I’m going to try,” Darcy said, trying to hide the tremble in her hands. 

"Have you seen Thor?" Jane asked.

"He's watching the man painting his name on the office door," Darcy said. Thor had a new venture. 

"Oh," Jane said, laughing.

"I better go," Darcy said, swallowing. Jane gave her a bright smile and she tried to smile back before she walked away.

 

She got to the hotel at the pre-arranged time. O’Rourke was waiting for her in the lobby. “Miss Lewis,” he said warmly. “Frankie sent me down to wait on you. She’s supposed to be resting.”

“I bet so,” Darcy said. Frankie was pregnant. Darcy had run into her at a department store. 

“I have trouble keeping her at home, she wants to visit everyone,” he said, as they got on the elevator. 

“Are you living here now?” Darcy asked. It was a very luxurious hotel. 

“For a bit,” O’Rourke said. “Mr. Rumlow is, uh, having a place built for us. One of the new apartment towers around the park.”

“That sounds nice,” Darcy said, trying to stay calm at the sound of his name. She was desperate to see him. Frankie had given her his address and she’d written, but there had been no reply. But it had only been a week or so.

 

O’Rourke brought her into the apartment. “Darcy!” Frankie called loudly. “Get in here. I’m not supposed to move.” O’Rourke laughed. Darcy went into the living room. Frankie was shoeless and flopped across the couch. “I’m dying in this heat and the doctors won’t let me swim. You look lovely and cool,” she said. She held her arms out for a hug. Darcy hugged her back, smelling faint talcum powder and a soft perfume in Frankie’s curls.

“The heat’s dreadful,” Darcy said politely. “And it’s only June.” Frankie laughed. 

“Look at you being all polite. Mama’s not here. Martha, will you fix Miss Lewis something cold?” she asked a maid. “Gin?”

“Sure,” Darcy said.

“You’re nervous! Don’t be. I told him to be here at twelve-fifteen and he’s always punctual,” Frankie said. Darcy nodded.

“Twelve-fifteen?” she said, realizing she’d been asked to come earlier. Frankie’s expression dimmed.

“He was in a car accident out in California. Near Triskelion--” she began. Darcy’s heart twisted.

“I read about it in the paper,” she said dully. Frankie nodded.

“It was touch and go for awhile, but he’s better now, you’ll see. I didn’t want the burns to give you a shock, though. He’s sensitive.” Darcy nodded again, trying to hide her agitation. She swallowed some of the drink that the maid brought. It burned all the way down. She and Frankie and O’Rourke chatted about New York activities for several minutes. All the time, Darcy tried not to look at the clock in the room. They waited. And waited.

 

He never came. After an hour, Frankie fidgeted. Her expression was guilty. “I suppose he just got caught up in something, Darcy,” she said. Darcy made all the correct reassurances--she didn’t want Frankie to feel badly--and fled the building. She made sure to get all the way to the sidewalk before the tears came.

She got friendly calls from Frankie, but no invitations to come see him again. Frankie was always careful to invite her to “come see me and the old Irishman.” 

Darcy understood. 

  


***

 

“It’s too hot to live,” Darcy groused sourly, as she and Thor walked along the July sidewalk. She was sweating under her suit. Even yesterday’s rainstorms had failed to quell the soaring summer temperatures. People on the streets were short-tempered and pushy in the heatwave. Thor extended his arm to Darcy protectively and they wove around sweaty shoeshine boys and drunks. “I bet even the bootleggers are on vacation,” Darcy said, when they’d stopped at an intersection. Thor nodded and dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief. 

“What did your friend tell you about this man Killian?” Thor asked. They were investigating the disappearance of a Stark Industries employee named Maria Hill. Thor had quit his job chasing bootleggers for the government and gone into business as a private investigator. Darcy was his assistant now. Tony Stark was their first client. 

“She said there’s nothing of note about him. Young scientist. Researching polio,” Darcy said. “Apparently, he’s afflicted. Walks with a limp.” She’d phoned a librarian friend from Culver to get a Who’s Who on Aldrich Killian. They’d found his name in Maria Hill’s date book when they searched her empty apartment. “His lab is just a few blocks up, in the basement.”

“Odd choice for a man with polio,” Thor said.

“We all make choices,” Darcy said dryly. They got to the brownstone in question and descended the stone steps. Thor looked at her and then knocked. 

The man who answered the door looked nothing like Darcy had imagined. He looked positively spit-shined. Or like a soap advertisement: upright posture, a handsome face, blonde hair brushed back from his forehead, and a bright smile. Maybe too bright. “I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr. Odinson,” he said. “I did have a telephone conversation with Miss Hill, but our contact did not extend beyond that.”

“When was the last time you spoke with her?” Thor asked. 

“Oh, I couldn’t say,” Killian said. He gestured airily. Darcy watched as he dodged all of Thor’s questions with practiced ease.

“He’s lying,” Darcy said, when they got back outside.

“Aye,” Thor agreed. They trudged back to Stark Tower. Darcy felt demoralized. She’d hoped that this new venture would give her a sense of purpose. Instead, she felt lost. She’d known Maria Hill by sight and reputation. She had been missing for days. There was no innocent explanation. She agreed with Stark: something was wrong.

  


***

Darcy had taken a cold bath that night and was putting a bowl of ice in front of her window fan when the phone trilled. She moved over to her bedside telephone. It was a Stark Tower luxury to have a phone in the bedroom and the kitchen. Tony was talking about air conditioning all the apartments next. “Hello?” Darcy said.

“PLA 3226 on the line,” the Stark operator said. Darcy was startled. That was Frankie’s number. Was something wrong with the baby?

“Thank you,” she said, There was a click on the line and she heard the operator sign off.

“What are you playing at?” a rough, but familiar voice said through the receiver. 

“Hello,” she repeated, heart pounding.

“You shouldn’t be interfering in this Maria Hill business, sweetheart.” His possessive tone made her feel an irrational surge of anger. He wouldn’t see her or answer her letters, but he would telephone to warn her off?

“We single women have to make a living, Mr. Rumlow,” Darcy said coolly. “Some of us aren’t so lucky to have the means to decline honest work.”

“Honest work, that’s what Odinson calls it? Dragging you into his fool’s errand. I heard he got fired by Hoover,” Rumlow said. He voice had turned sharper.

“He quit,” Darcy snapped. “Left the bureau and chasing bootleggers behind for Jane. They’re getting married.” That made him pause for a moment. She listened to him breathe.

“That so?” he said. 

“Yes,” Darcy said. She heard a sigh.

“I want you to leave this be,” Rumlow said quietly.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” Darcy said. She waited for him to say something else. 

“You need money or something?” he said.

“Save your money for Frankie’s baby,” Darcy said. 

“You know about that, huh?” he said.

“She thinks I’m fit to be seen with,” Darcy said. 

“It’s not you that ain’t fit to be seen,” he said. His voice was soft. “But you’re not meant for this kind of work. It’s dangerous.”

Darcy huffed.

For a moment, she thought he’d disconnected the call. But then she heard him sigh again. “I thought you’d get married,” he said. “You ought to be married by now.”

“I am a disappointment to everyone, it seems,” she said archly. 

“No,” he said. His voice was soft. “Just give this up, all right? Don’t go poking at it--”

“What do you know that you’re not telling me?” Darcy said. 

“Nothing,” he said. “There’s nothing in this for you.”

“Nothing for me at all?” 

“No.” 

 

A second later, the operator came back on the line. “The caller has been disconnected.” Darcy waited until she'd hung up to swear at him. 


	57. Right, I Hate You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Right, I hate you. Which is why I’ve saved your life five times, trusted you with my own, sat by your sickbed for a week – I even took you to my favorite restaurant!” for Zephrbabe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! This one was wildly fun to write!

“Our new SHIELD security person is coming this am,” Darcy told Jane over the phone. “The high-ranking elite guy?”  She was straightening up the lab in Stark Tower alone. Jane had left the day before.

“It’s supposed to be an elite guy?” Jane asked. Jane was with Thor in Norway for a romantic two week getaway, but he’d asked SHIELD to provide Darcy and Jane with a backup security person for his Asgard trips. SHIELD--rebuilding and fresh off the whole HYDRA debacle--probably needed the good publicity of guarding Thor’s famous girlfriend. She was surprised that Tony had agreed.

“Supposedly,” Darcy said wryly. “That’s what Maria told me, that he’s some badass triple agent guy that Helen Cho just patched up. He was embedded with all the Nazi shitheads and now he gets to babysit us in New York, I bet he’ll be bored out of his mind--”

  
Behind her, someone cleared their throat. Darcy turned slowly in her office chair. Maria Hill, expression neutral, was standing in the doorway with a dark-haired man. He glared down at Darcy. He would have been really hot, but he was looking at her with utter contempt. “Jane, I’ll have to call you back, we’ve got company,” Darcy said cheerfully. She was right: he obviously hated this assignment. She loved pissing people off. “Give all my love to the Thor-bear!” she trilled, then ended the call. “How can I help you?” she said happily.

“I’m your new security guy,” the man said in a clipped voice.

“Fantastic,” Darcy said. He shifted slightly and didn’t speak for a moment. She didn’t break eye contact. “Maria, does my new security guy have a name?”

“Brock Rumlow,” he said.

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Brock.” She grinned and sounded it out again. “Brock Rumlow.”

“Do you have a problem with my name?” he said. His voice was blunt.

“It’s a hell of an alias,” she said.

“It’s my actual name.” He glared again. 

“Well, now that you’re acquainted,” Maria said, stepping back. Darcy leaned around him.

“Thanks!” she said, waving. 

“You’re welcome,” Maria said, a flickering look of dubiousness crossing her face.

 

He remained standing in the doorway. “You can sit down, you know that?” Darcy said.

“There are no chairs with good sightlines,” he said, crossing his arms.

“You could move one. Where’s a good sightline?” she asked. He looked at her. “Well?”

“Here,” he said, gesturing. Darcy rolled out a chair. It had wheels.

“Wheeeeeeee!” she said. “Here you go. Perfect sightlines or whatever."

“Uh-huh,” he said. He finally sat down. Darcy grinned and internally high-fived herself. 

 

_Darcy: 1, MurderFaced Agent: 0._

 

He tromped into the lab every day looking utterly miserable. Darcy tried to engage him on various fun topics--cupcakes, Netflix, anything really--but he batted away her overtures. “Did you want a cupcake?” she offered on his second day. She’d bought two from the cafeteria. Fist sized vanillas with little sugar flowers.

“I don’t eat sugar,” he said.

“At all?” she said.

“It’s poison.”

“Okay, more for me.” At least that worked out in her favor.

 

“I’m not a TV guy,” he told her on day three, when she asked his favorite Netflix show.

“Netflix isn’t TV---”

“Whatever. All that sitting around makes you die,” he said. “I box, I don’t TV.”

“Well, aren’t you special,” she muttered under her voice.

“Excuse me?” His expression was intimidating.

“You must be special, all that physical fitness,” she said dryly. He was fit, she could see. “You’re in great shape,” she added. That mollified him. The frown turned to a smile.

“I just work hard,” he said. “It’s just hours in, Lewis. Anybody could do it.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s more than that,” she said, standing up. “I need to mail this through the internal system, then run a small errand--”

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

“It’s all the way in the Bronx!” she said. “It’s personal. Not work-related.”  
“It’s my job to protect you,” he said seriously. He installed himself between her and the door.

“Oh, all right, come to Borgatti’s with me,” Darcy said.

“You’re going to Borgatti’s?” 

“You know Borgatti’s?”

“I’m from the Bronx,” he said. “Everybody knows Borgatti’s.”

“I’ve never tried fresh pasta,” she admitted. “I read about it online.”

“You gotta try it,” he said, looking unaccountably pleased. Somehow, that big smile made Darcy unnerved. It looked unexpected on his normally grimacing face. 

 

They were bickering over pasta options in the shop when Darcy rolled her eyes. “I bet you don’t even eat this stuff,” she said.

“That don’t mean I don’t know that spinach and ricotta ain’t the best choice,” he murmured. He was trying to keep the employees from overhearing, she realized. 

“I like spinach and cheese,” she said.

“You can’t impress your date with green schmutz between your teeth,” he said.

“Date?” Darcy said, baffled. He sounded like somebody’s mother desperate for some grandkids.

”You’re buying this to cook for somebody, right?”

“Nope,” Darcy said, crossing her arms. “This is purely for me. I don’t date.”

“What?” he said.

“Some women’s lives don’t actually revolve around men, Agent Hottie,” she said. “I’m an independent career woman who don’t need no man.” She smiled at the guy behind the Borgatti’s counter. He was staring. “I do need the wonderful person who makes your ravioli,” she said, grinning.

“Agent Hottie?” Brock said, She ignored him. When she got the spinach ravioli, she chalked that as another win.

 

_Darcy: 2, MurderFaced Agent: 0._

 

Unfortunately, her pretty, pillow-soft-looking ravioli didn’t survive long. Several guys tried to snatch Darcy on the sidewalk a few blocks from the pasta shop. Rumlow actually headbutted one of them. But it wasn’t enough to save her smooshed ravioli. One of the kidnappers---they thought she was Jane--had stepped on it with his big feet. 

 

“I cannot believe that happened,” Darcy said that night. “Here’s your ice pack.” She plopped it on Rumlow’s forehead. He winced. 

“Are you still bitching about your Borgatti’s?” he said. 

“Yes!” Darcy said. “I was gonna eat those ravioli. I can’t believe the cops didn’t increase the charges.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t arrest you when you kicked that guy when they had him in cuffs,” Rumlow said.

“Ravioli stomping bastards,” Darcy muttered. He laughed. “You want some wine?” she offered. She’d talked him into coming back to her Stark apartment for a movie. She was grateful he’d helped her evade a near-death experience. Probably.

“Sure--oh God, what the hell is this?” he said. She’d handed him a full glass. 

“It’s rosé, you heathen. Rosé all day,” Darcy joked. “Try it.”

“Fine,” he grumbled. He sipped tentatively.

“Well?”

“It’s...all right,” he said. She smiled. He balanced the ice pack over his forehead and sipped. “What we watching?” he asked. 

“Something,” Darcy said. “Spy thriller? Action movie?” She scrolled through various options. “This one or this one?” She’d been at it for five minutes when he sighed.

“Do you actually watch things on this shit or do you just debate what to watch?”

“Mostly, I just watch _Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries_ when I can’t decide. Flapper lady detective--”

“What?” he said. 

 _“_ There’s also _Charmed?_ Sisters who are witches,” she said.

“Did you have the fucking head injury or me?”

“I’m going to ignore that, because you saved me from the baddies today.”

 

_Darcy: 2, MurderFaced Agent: 1, Ravioli Smashing Thugs: 0, but much resentment._

 

Jane was still out of town when Darcy caught one of the office colds. She was miserable and shuffling around the lab in her pajama bottoms and a Culver sweatshirt when he looked at her. “Lewis, for fuck’s sake, go to your apartment and go to bed, you’re getting green fucking mucus everywhere.”

“I am not!” Darcy said. That was when the AI system informed her that she was officially quarantined, per Tony’s sickness protocols. Building rules sequestered her to her apartment. 

“I can’t believe I drank out of one of your wine glasses,” Brock grumbled, shuffling her out of the lab. He made her lie down on her couch. 

“I hate being sick,” Darcy said. “I think I’m getting a sinus thing.”

“Tough. You’re human. You get sick,” he said. She mimicked him.

“I’m human,” she said.

“That’s better than dead,” he said. She was half-asleep when he brought her more decongestants, the antibiotics the in-house medical office prescribed, and another pillow. He adjusted it beneath her head and sat next to her on the couch.

“Thank you.”

“You’re shivering,” he said. “Just rest.” 

“Fine,” Darcy said, sighing. “I’ll rest.”

“What’s the name of the chick show you like?” he asked. 

“Chick show,” she muttered. “Chick show! It’s _Australian._ Miss Fisher’s Murders Mmmm,” she said sleepily. He was pressing buttons on her remote. 

“I knew a guy from Australia,” he said. “We were fake HYDRA together.”

“Where is he?” Darcy asked.

“Transferred back down there to be closer to his family in Billabong or whatever the fuck they call it,” he said.

“I think Billabong is a real place,” Darcy said. She was half-asleep when he chuckled at her television. 

“So, women just like this show ‘cause she has a new man every minute?”

“You have no taste,” Darcy said. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought he brushed her hair back. “Do you miss your work friend? From Australia?” she asked.

“Sometimes,” he said. “I’ll tell you what I don’t miss, though. His goddamn Vegemite.” Darcy laughed. It turned into a cough. “Yuck, Lewis,” he said.

“Double yuck.”

 

_Darcy: 2, MurderFaced Agent: 1, Terrible Colds: 1._

 

He hung around her apartment for several days. When she finally got well enough to taste things again, he took her out for dinner. “You need to eat,” he said. “You been eating saltines and you drink too much coffee,” he scolded. 

“Where are we going?” Darcy asked. She was letting him lead her around. The decongestants made her a little spacey.

“Carlo’s. You’ll like Carlo’s. It’ll make up for your lost ravioli,” he said. 

“Okey dokey,” she said. 

 

Carlo’s was nice. Once they’d ordered, Darcy looked at him. “You’re right, this good ravioli.”

“You think I would lie about ravioli?” he said. “I just hope you were done being contagious.”

“I’m sure I am,” Darcy said confidently. Weren’t you contagious before you even knew you were sick?

 

The next day, she heard a sound in the lab. “Did you sniffle?” she said. He’d just shown up. Three minutes late. He was never late.

“This is what I fucking get for eating one of your ravioli,” he said bitterly. “You gave me your fucking cold.”

“Whoops.”

“She says whoops. She gets me sick and says whoops,” he muttered.

“I thought you were serumed!”

“I didn’t get the good stuff. Cap got that, I got second-rate HYDRA juice,” he said. 

“Oh,” Darcy said. “So, I get to take care of you now?”

“Yeah, you get to take care of me now,” he said.

“C’mon, we’ll camp on my couch again,” she said, steering him to her and Jane’s apartment. This time, she settled him in the blankets and made him take Dayquil.

“That stuff don’t work on me,” he said.

“Sure,” Darcy said.  “I’ll call and see if you need antibiotics, too. Did you want to watch something?”

“We were on that episode with Miss Fisher and the, uh, anarchist guy from, uh,” he said. “Fuck, what was it? Latvia?”  

“Oooh, yeah, the cute one,” Darcy said. “Peter.”

“You think that guy was cute? That guy?”

“They have good chemistry,” she insisted. 

“He was old,” Brock said. “He looked like fucking Dracula.”

“He was mysterious and mature enough to be her equal, hello,” Darcy said. “And I love that Russian music.”

“You’re weird,” he said.

“Pfffhht, you’re weird,” she said. “You want saltines?”

“Ugh, fucking saltines.” He paused. “Yeah.”

 

_Darcy: 2, MurderFaced Agent: 2, Terrible Colds: 2, Leftover Ravioli: excellent._

 

He was snoring on the couch when Jane arrived back with Thor. “Who is that?” she said, peering around Darcy’s hug. Darcy looked over to where Jane’s gaze had stopped at the feet hanging over the end of the sofa. Jane was frowning.

“I gave our security guy my cold,” Darcy said. “That is Brock.”

“Brock,” Jane said, sounding it out dubiously. 

“He hates when people do that,” Darcy said. On the couch, Brock stirred.

“We, uh, got any saltines, baby?” he said in a hoarse voice. He probably didn’t see Jane over the couch.

“Baby?” Jane mouthed, rolling her suitcase across the living room.

“He’s very sarcastic,” Darcy whispered. She pitched her voice louder for him. “Sure, we’ve got more. I’ll get them.” She crossed the living room with Jane. “Where’s Thor?”

“Downstairs,” Jane said.  She peered curiously at the couch as she went by. Brock had closed his eyes again. “You didn’t say cute,” Jane said in a whisper. “You omitted cute!”

“Shhh,” Darcy said.

“That feels relevant to him drooling on my nice sofa.”

“It’s Tony’s nice sofa,” Darcy said. Jane stared. “Technically. Okay. Yes, he’s cute. Go unpack your stuff.”

 

From the couch, Brock snickered. “You think I’m cute,” he said, starting to laugh. The laugh turned into a cough. 

“Do you see what you’ve done?” Darcy called to Jane. 

“I’m dropping my bags and getting out of here!” Jane yelled back. “You know I hate colds. Have you Lysoled?”

“You know I loathe that stuff,” Darcy said. She sat down next to Brock and lowered her voice. “She loves Lysol. It’s so gross. It reminds me too much of preschool trauma.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he said blearily.

“I threw up once because I was sensitive and the other kids played with their food weird _on purpose,”_ Darcy said. “I hate the smell of Chef Boyardee, too.”

“Preschool trauma,” he said, chuckling.

 

Thankfully, he recovered in time to take Jane to a conference. They were getting ready when a hotel maid knocked. Darcy answered. “Hi, we’re clearing out for the day in a sec,” she said.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you,” the woman said, revealing a gun. “Where is Dr. Jane Foster?” Darcy stepped back. The woman followed. She walked into Brock’s blow; he was behind the door. The kidnapper crumpled.

“Hahaha, take that, beyotch,” Darcy said, as he took her gun and checked the now unconscious woman for weapons.

“Are you five?” he said, looking up at Darcy.

“Yes,” Jane said, “but we find it charming.”

“Thank you,” Darcy said. She glared at Brock. “Stop judging me, _Dad.”_

“I’m going to drag her out here, get Thor,” he said, moving her out into the hallway in case she came to. The door shut.

“You know he wants you to call him Daddy, right?” Jane said, coolly dialing Thor. She’d finally gotten him a phone.

“Lies, damned lies, and statistics,” Darcy said. She was fairly sure he didn’t loathe her as much as he had on day one, but that Brock had filed her under his ‘people I’m mildly contemptuous of for their lack of physical fitness’ file. He certainly wasn’t impressed by her. He did nothing but snark and look at her quizzically. She might’ve given him his first real forehead wrinkle, he made faces at her so often.

 

_Darcy: 2, MurderFaced Agent: 3, Evil Assassins: 0._

 

The murder maid seemed to make him more paranoid. He hustled Jane and her through the rest of the conference like a sheepdog. “I feel herded,” Darcy complained. “Are you gonna nip my ankles next?”

“What?” he grumbled, frowning.

“You’re border collie-ing us and I can’t walk that fast,” she said.

“It’s true, it stresses her out to hurry,” Jane said.

“I drop things. Important things.”

“I told you I’d get you another coffee,” he said.

“But wouldn’t it be nice if you didn’t have to?” Darcy said, sighing. She’d dropped her coffee after he hurried them out of Jane’s morning panel. 

“Security is important, Lewis.”

“Also, I have to pee.”

“You can pee later,” he said. “This is your third break of the day.”

“I’m a small woman, I have a tiny bladder. Hurrying makes it worse,” Darcy said. Jane was giggling wildly.

“What, Foster?” he said gruffly.

“You two are ridiculous,” Jane said. 

“This is why you don’t need the coffee,” he said, ignoring Jane. Darcy fixed him with a sad look. She sniffled. Stuck her bottom lip out. Stopped moving. “What?” he said. “C’mon.”

“You should have just let the murder maid kill me!” she wailed. Loudly. People turned to stare. Brock cringed.

“You’re calling attention to Jane,” he said quietly. Jane had lost it and was laughing hysterically.

“Fine!” Darcy yelled. She turned and stomped away.

“For God’s sake, slow down. I’ll get you the damn coffee!” he said. 

 

She counted that as a win.

 

_Darcy: 3, MurderFaced Agent: 3, Coffees Lost in The Line of Duty: 1._

  


It would have been easier if people would stop trying to kidnap Jane, though. “I think it’s you,” Darcy announced to Brock, one night when he’d foiled someone at a science gala thingy. “We never used to get attempted kidnapped this often.” 

“True,” Jane said, rubbing a bruised elbow.

“Are you bribing people to fake-kidnap us as part of an evil plan ensure your job security?” Darcy wondered. She looked forlornly at her torn dress. “Aw, man. They tore the part with sequins. I’ll never be able to fix that.”

 

“Are you insane?” Brock said, fishing some ice out of a punch bowl and handing it to Jane in a soggy napkin. 

“You keep asking me that, the answer never changes,” Darcy said. “I’m just creative--is that fancy French cheese puffs? Can I have a cheese puff?” 

“Jesus,” he muttered. “Here, I’ll get you all the cheese puffs, you lunatic.” He moved over two steps, warily eyeing the crowd.

“Goody,” Darcy said, smiling and clapping. Jane snorted. Then her expression changed.

“Loki would,” Jane said thoughtfully. “Fake-kidnap us to seem heroic, I mean.” 

“Huh,” Darcy said. When Brock stepped back over with the cheese puffs, Darcy poked him.

“What are you doing?” he said.

“Are you Loki in disguise?” she asked. “You can tell us, it’ll still be heroic.”

“Seek professional help,” he said.

 

_Darcy: 3, Murderfaced Agent: 4, Possible Loki Sightings: 1, Cheese Puffs (consumed): count not recorded._

 

They were back in the lab and fighting about her going to Borgatti’s alone one afternoon when Darcy finally lost her sense of humor. “Why are you being such a killjoy?” she said. “You know the likelihood of someone coming for me alone--”

“Is much higher than you seem to realize,” he said.

“No one wants me!” she insisted. “They want Jane!”

“I--plenty of people would kidnap you,” he said. Darcy flopped down in a huff. She felt..bratty. That was it. He was making her feel infantilized all the time with his bossiness and hovering and it made her want to rebel. Childishly. 

“Why do you hate me?” she muttered under her breath.

“What?” Brock said incredulously. “What the fuck did you say?”

“You just hate me,” she grumbled.

“Right, I hate you. Which is why I’ve saved your life five times, trusted you with my own, sat by your sickbed for a week – I even took you to my favorite restaurant!” he said.

“It wasn’t five times--”

“It will be by next week,” he said. “At this rate.”

“Children--” Jane said. They ignored her.

“What do you even mean, _trusted me with your life?”_ Darcy said, rolling her eyes.

“I fell asleep in your apartment, you could have slit my throat for all I know,” he said. “I used to have to worry about that.”

“And you think I’m the drama queen?” Darcy said. “You trust me with your life”--she did air quotes-- “but not to go buy ravioli?”

“The last time you tried to buy ravioli, someone almost snatched you,” he said.

“For God’s sake,” Jane muttered. She raised her voice. “Just have the ravioli delivered! And get a room already!”

 

Two heads swiveled her direction.

“What?” Darcy said.

“That’s a good idea,” Brock said.

“Excuse me?” Darcy said. “I am not getting a room with you.”

“I meant they deliver,” he said. “And what are you using that tone for---”

“I will order the ravioli,” Jane snapped. “If you two will take it and just go work out whatever is going on between you as soon as Thor gets here.”

“Jane,” Darcy whined.

“Don’t test me or I’ll fire him and ask for a new security guy,” she threatened, waving a finger. “One with no personality!”

“Jane!” Darcy said.

“I will get a German,” she said.

“No,” Darcy said, moving to stand in front of Brock protectively. “Not a German! He’s saved our lives a bunch of times!”

“Now she admits it,” Brock muttered.

“Okay, we’ll behave,” Darcy said. She looked at Brock. “Won’t we?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

 

_Darcy: 3, Murderfaced Agent: 4, Tiny Pissed Off Scientist: 1._

 

“So,” Darcy said. “You’re three floors down from us?” She’d followed Brock to his apartment after the ravioli arrived. Thor was back, too, and Jane had been downright bossy, insisting they GTFO of her lab. She complimented him on the apartment’s tidiness. It was small, but neat.

“My place isn’t Asgard-sized, either,” he said. “What kind of sauce do you want to do with these?”

“Butter?” Darcy offered.

“I got mushrooms,” he said, peering into the fridge. He pulled out a carton. “We can do this.”

“Okay,” Darcy said. She was feeling weirdly tongue-tied, like all Jane’s ‘get a room’ business had gotten under her skin. They hadn’t been alone together at all since Jane and Thor came back. “Yeah, mushrooms. I like mushrooms.”

“I know,” he said. “You told me that first week. When you were sad about your ravioli.”

“I did?” she said. Then she scrunched her nose thoughtfully. “We got along fine then, didn’t we?”

 “Hmmm?”

“Before Jane got back, we were getting along,” Darcy said. “When it was the two of us.”

“Yeah,” he said, slicing. He frowned. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Darcy said. “Is it Jane?”

“What?” he said.

“Is Jane making us weird or something?” she asked. He tilted his head. Made an ‘eh’ face. She watched as he cycled through several of them, licked his lips, then spoke.

“Yes,” he said, nodding. He stopped and waved his knife. “She’s always giggling and saying all kinds of shit about us flirting. Clearly, her commentary is part of the problem. I’m fine, you’re fine. We were having a good time, going to Carlo’s--”

“Sharing a cold?” Darcy offered.

“It wasn’t all bad,” he said. “You took good care of me.”

“You think so?” Darcy said. 

“Yeah,” he said. There was a pause. “You’re not going to compliment me back?”

“You saved my life,” Darcy said. “Several times.” She wasn’t going to debate the number.

“But I’m okay at the sickness stuff, too?” he said. 

“Yeah, of course,” she said. “You were great when I was sick. We watched all that Netflix.”

“So, clearly, you and me, we’re fine. We’re good. She’s the problem.”

“She’s the problem,” Darcy repeated, nodding. “Obviously. It can’t be us.”

“No,” he said, nodding. “Not us.”

“Can’t be,” Darcy repeated seriously.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Photographic inspiration for this one:
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> A tiny sequel: [ Okay, Maybe I Lied ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204753)


	58. Certificate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've been short of ideas lately, but this one just came to me...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

Brock Rumlow opened his eyes slowly. “So, I’m not dead?” he said. Fury was leaning casually against the wall in his hospital room. 

“Nope,” Fury said. The machines attached to Rumlow beeped steadily. He breathed in and out.

“I could use some more narcotics,” he said dryly. “I got an itch I can’t scratch.” He rattled the metal cuffs that latched him to the bed.

“Uh-huh. That might be obtainable,” Fury said.

“Everything’s obtainable,” Rumlow repeated. Pierce used to say that.

“I want those HYDRA bases,” Fury said.

“Everybody wants things,” Rumlow said. “A million dollars, a harem of beautiful women, HYDRA bases…” He chuckled.

“Don’t fuck around with me, Rumlow. I know,” Fury said. 

“You know? What the fuck do you know?” Rumlow said. He laughed openly now. He had no idea what Fury knew. Fury leaned forward and smiled.

“You think you could keep your little family hidden from SHIELD? From me?” Fury said.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“She put your name on the birth certificate,” Fury said, sliding the phone out of his pocket and flicking through to a photo. He held it up. “That close enough? The doctors said your vision’s damaged from all the debris.”

Brock blinked, trying to make sure he was seeing the image correctly. On the screen, Darcy Lewis was carrying a tiny, dark-haired infant. He stared at the image for a long moment. Closed his eyes. Refocused. “You want the bases?” Rumlow said quietly.

“All of them,” Fury said, tucking the phone away. Rumlow’s eyes followed it to his pocket.

“I’ll give you the bases when she’s here,” Rumlow said. “Both of ‘em. Safe and in protective custody.”

“I thought you might,” Fury said. Rumlow stared at the ceiling. “Oh, Rumlow?” Fury turned back when he got to the door. “Remember that it would be easy for your old pals to find out about her, too. Romanoff leaked all the SHIELD files. Her file was updated after the kid was born. Pierce made sure to make a notation for his use. That’s public now.”

The door shut with a clang.

 

“Fuck,” Rumlow swore under his breath. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” He’d hooked up with Darcy Lewis more than a year ago, back when Pierce had him run security for an event in Oslo where Jane Foster was being given an award. They’d thought Loki might show. Loki hadn’t shown. Rumlow had spent all night watching Darcy Lewis stun a bunch of science types with her jokes--and her amazing body. She’d been flirtatiously complaining about being neglected by her British ex-boyfriend and he’d offered to pay her some attention. It had been a one-night stand. They’d spent a few hours together in her hotel room and he’d gone back to DC. He’d thought about her now and again, but she lived in Europe. No one had told him that she was pregnant. Least of all Alexander Pierce. He didn’t even know if his child was a boy or a girl. But European HYDRA was probably crawling all over those files. He was fucked. So fucked. 

 

He had a kid. _A baby. Why hadn’t she called him?_

 

***

“What?” Darcy said, going pale. Thor took baby Sophie out of her arms. The baby yanked at his beard and he grinned.  She loved Thor. Her blue-green eyes went wide as he waggled his eyebrows.

“Mighty female warrior, good,” he whispered. Sophie gurgled and pulled again.

“We were getting ready to approach Rumlow for the HYDRA bases when I saw Pierce’s hidden note in his HYDRA file about you and the baby,” Natasha explained. She was standing in Jane’s current lab in a Hawaiian observatory. Jane had taken a fellowship in Hawaii for Darcy to give birth in the US. “I’m sorry, but we need to bring you to safety in any case. You won’t see him without security--” she was saying when Darcy looked at Jane in horror.

“See him?” Jane choked out.

“He wants you and the baby safe,” Nat said. “He’s not a threat to you, I don’t think. But his friends might be---.”

“Oh God, oh God,” Darcy said. She stood up and did circles of panic at the lab’s edge. “I’m going to throw up. I’m going to throw up! Jane, you were right, I fucked up, I fucked up _bad,”_ Darcy wailed. Thor frowned.

“I don’t understand,” Nat said.

“Tasha,” Darcy said slowly, _“Brock Rumlow isn’t my baby’s father. Ian is the baby’s father.”_

“What?” Nat said. Jane was frowning.

“He’s probably the father,” Jane said.

“Ian married this girl with money right after we broke up the last time and when I found out I was pregnant, I was afraid they would try to take custody,” Darcy explained haltingly.

“She was terrified,” Jane cut in. “Ian and Arabella were making getting back her furniture and her clothes a nightmare, so she was too scared to tell him that she was pregnant.”

“I was hoping they’d break up and Ian would go back to being a regular-grade bad boyfriend and potential dad, instead of a nightmare boyfriend,” Darcy said. “But they got married instead. Which would mean she was Soph’s stepmother even before she was born. I--I couldn’t tell him. And then I remembered that Rumlow and I had slept together at that Oslo gala. It was like a week after Ian told me he needed some time apart and went back to London. He was already seeing her. So, I put Rumlow’s name on the birth certificate and told people he was the father. But I think it’s more likely that Ian is her father.”

“This is not ideal,” Nat said. 

“Jane, you were right. She--she thought it was a bad idea, but I wasn’t going to ask him for money, so I thought I could get away with it. I thought it was the perfect plan to solve my problem. He didn’t know or care, so he wouldn’t give me trouble! I’m going to vomit,” Darcy said. “He’s HYDRA!”

“He was just a random SHIELD agent then, it’s not like you knew he was HYDRA,” Jane said. 

“You cannot tell Rumlow that he’s not the baby’s father,” Nat said. 

“It’s not like I have a choice,” Darcy said, looking at her, then Jane, and finally to Thor with the baby. “If I don’t keep this secret, Ian and Arabella will want to DNA test Sophie. And they--they might have grounds to take her away, wouldn’t they?” Her eyes were wide with horror. “If they say I lied on purpose?”

“You didn’t,” Jane said firmly. “You thought Brock Rumlow was Sophie’s father. She looks nothing like Ian. Nothing like him.”

“Exactly,” Nat said, eyes narrowing at the baby. “She does not. I won’t tell Fury.”

“You won’t?” Darcy said.

“He’ll put you into protective custody. Ian will never know, either. It won’t leave this room,” Nat said.

“Thank you,” Darcy said, sagging in relief. She started to cry a little. In Thor’s arms, Sophie shrieked and waved her hands.

“Bah-bah-gah!” she said.

“She says it will be all right,” Thor said genially. 

 

***

Brock sat up a fraction when he heard the hospital door open. A dark-haired figured swam into view. Petite. Hesitating to step forward. He blinked until she was close enough to come into focus. “Lewis?” he said. 

“Hello,” she said. “Fury said you wanted to see me as soon as we got here?”

“Where’s--where’s the baby?” he said. As she came closer, he saw the horror on her face, before she schooled her expression into something more neutral.

“She’s with Thor and Jane,” Darcy said.

“She,” he said. He was trying to keep himself calm. 

“Sophie,” Darcy said. “Her name is Sophia, but we call her Sophie most of the time.”

“You never called me,” he said.

“You didn’t seem like the family type,” she said haltingly. Her expression changed. “You still aren’t. Nat says HYDRA will probably put a bounty on us, once they start breaking up the bases.” Her voice was sharp. He felt himself grimace; it hurt.

“Nobody’s gonna hurt you,” he said.

“I know. You’re going to give Fury what he wants--” she began.

“Oh I am, huh?” Rumlow said. “You nagging me already?”

“You’re going to give Fury what he wants so my child will have protection. If you fuck around, I will come to this room--”

“He’s threatening to withhold protection from you?” Rumlow interrupted, face twisting in anger. He moved forward so sharply that his cuffs jangled and she moved back a fraction. He thought he saw a flicker of fear cross her face. “I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said. 

“Cooperate with him,” Darcy said bluntly. “We’re being held hostage here, too.” Rumlow huffed through his nose, trying to slow his heartbeat. His blood felt hot in his veins. _Fucking SHIELD withholding protection from his baby,_ he thought. 

“I’ll cooperate,” he told her, voice flat. He lay back on the pillow and Darcy seemed to relax. 

“Good,” she said, swallowing. “Thank you.” They sat in silence for a moment. He rolled his eyes over to Darcy's face. She looked anxious. 

“Would I frighten her?” he said quietly. “Or could I see her?”

“I think that would be okay,” she said carefully. She stood up.

“You leaving?”

“I’m going to get Sophie,” she said. “I’ll be back.”

 

The wait was agonizing. He stared at the still-blurry walls of his hospital room. Rumlow knew that Pierce had withheld knowledge of his child because Pierce didn’t trust him to be loyal with a competing motive. Or Pierce had wanted to use her as leverage later. The idea made him angry. All he’d felt lately was anger--he was constantly in a state of rage about his injuries, the failure of HYDRA, the terrible irony of his still being alive. He’d thought he had nothing left to live for but revenge. 

 

He heard the door open again. “Darcy?” he said quietly, eyes locked on the two figures until they came into focus. The baby in her arms had a shock of dark, wavy hair and a round-cheeked face. “Sophia?” he said in wonder. He got a gurgle in response. Blue eyes blinked at him. “Hey, hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft. He didn’t want to frighten her more than he already would.  He reached a hand out carefully. A chubby hand grazed his fingers gently. The eyes that looked at him--soft blue-green--didn’t seem afraid. The baby smiled. He looked at her in awe. She looked like Lewis, but she also looked like his baby sister. And his cousin Teresa. It was strange--miraculously strange--to see Lewis’s eyes look out from such a familiar face. “She’s beautiful,” he whispered, more to himself than Darcy.

“Yeah. You okay?” Darcy said.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he said, blinking a little. He could feel the wetness on his face. “She looks like my sister.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” she said quietly.

“Looks just like she did,” he said, smiling at the baby. “Same hair, same nose. She’s got your eyes, though. And your mouth.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. She looked nervous, he thought. She was probably an overprotective mother. He’d seen how she fretted over Jane.

“Keep Thor with you,” he said, shifting. He wanted her to know everything she could. “I’ll give Fury a list of everybody I know, but they kept us in cells. There will be people I don’t know about, all right?”

“People who would kill us,” she said, sounding equal parts angry and sad. 

“No,” he said. “You’ll be safe.” He kept his hand out for Sophia. She squeezed his index finger and babbled. _They would be safe,_ he thought, _if it took everything he had._ "Why?" he said suddenly.

"Why what?"

"Why didn't you have Thor hit Fury with the hammer and flee to Asgard?" he said. 

"I don't know," she said. She looked at him, then the baby. "They told me you were in bad shape," she added. He nodded.

 

He was still watching the play of expressions on his daughter’s face when Fury swept in. “Visiting hours have ended,” he announced. “We’re going to need that information now.” Rumlow nodded. His eyes watched Darcy and the baby until they turned blurry and the door shut with a gentle click.

“What do you want to know, Nick?” he said.

“Everything,” Fury said. Rumlow began to talk.

 

***

Darcy had put Sophie to bed and was cleaning the kitchen in their safe house when Grant Ward turned on the television. He amped up the volume on ESPN. She sighed. Ward got on her nerves. He was cocky and irritating and been getting on her nerves for several weeks, ever since she and Sophie had said to goodbye to a strangely calm Rumlow and been whisked away to this small town in Florida. Unfortunately, Jane was being honored in Washington, so she and Thor had gone via Mew-Mew for a week-long trip. Darcy missed having them as a buffer. She was rinsing off a plate and bending to put it in the dishwasher when the lights flickered and went out. “Shit,” she said out loud. It was humid. Could this be a heatwave-related power outage?  Or? Her heart began to thud. “Ward!” she yelled.

“Lewis,” Ward said from the living room, “get down and stay down.”

“Okay,” she said quietly, crouching on the floor. She listened to his feet move towards the foyer, then thought about Sophie. The nursery was on the ground floor. She’d converted a home office into a room for the two of them. She thought it was safer in case of emergencies. Darcy army-crawled across the floor, panicking and sweating. _Her baby,_ she thought, _her baby._

She was holding Sophie in her arms in a dark closet when she heard Grant Ward scream. “Shhh, shhh,” she said, rocking the baby and praying she wouldn’t cry. Darcy told herself to stay still. Stay still and they might survive. If she ran, she would be more likely to die. Rumlow and Natasha had both given her security lectures.

She heard footsteps in the hall and started to cry silently. The wood floor squeaked with a heavy tread. Darcy froze. She was sure that her heartbeat was audible enough to hear through walls. The footsteps stopped. Darcy wanted to scream, to run, to flee. Every part of her was panicking inside. Sophie began to whimper. Darcy jiggled her desperately, trying to soothe. That made her wail. “Shhh, shhh,” Darcy begged. “Baby, please, please.” 

 

The door swung open and Darcy screamed. It was involuntary. Brock Rumlow tilted his head at her. His face was impossible to read in the dark. “You’re safe,” he said in a low voice. “C’mon, we need to go.”

“Wh-what?” Darcy said. He pulled her to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

“Ward was HYDRA,” he said. “I came as quickly as I could.”

“Are--are you bleeding?” she said, as she followed him through the house. There was blood on his shirt.

“A little,” he said. “We can stitch me up later. Don’t let her see Ward.” Darcy looked over his shoulder. Ward was lying in the foyer. Motionless. 

“You killed him,” she said, horrified.

“HYDRA,” he clipped out. “He was waiting for Thor to go to get his hands on you. I know him. Fucking Fury, letting Coulson vouch for that piece of shit.”

“Coulson’s dead,” Darcy said, grabbing her diaper bag. “I need formula.” She turned back to the kitchen.

“Coulson’s not dead. You don’t breastfeed?” he said.

“What are you, La Leche?” she said, going to the pantry.

“Let me help you, goddammit,” he muttered. 

“I need a bag. I need a bag,” Darcy repeated, feeling herself panic. There was a dead man in the foyer, she was alone with a loose and homicidal Rumlow, and she needed bottles. Sophie started to cry.

“Okay, okay,” Rumlow said, holding his hands up like she was a frightened horse. “Why is she crying?”

“She’s sensitive to my moods,” Darcy snapped.

   

“How did you break out of jail?” she asked him once they were in the car. They’d argued about all the things she was packing until he relented and went outside to switch the car seat to his carefully-stolen vehicle. Sophie’s car seat was in her car. She was stubborn, he realized.

“I broke out of the hospital,” he said. “Not jail. We need to switch cars and get you to a safe place. Once you’re safe, I’ll get you a burner phone to call Foster,” Rumlow told her. “Calm down, you’ll upset the baby.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down when you shot somebody in my house!” Darcy said.

“He was HYDRA. HYDRA,” Brock repeated. “I’m trying to take care of you, all right? Don’t fucking do this. Just calm your ass down. I can work this out.”

“Because this has worked out so well,” she muttered sarcastically.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” he said bluntly.

“Yes and I’m wondering what insane impulse compelled me to fuck you in Oslo,” she said. “Was I crazy? Because I wasn’t even drinking.”

“Yeah, you were sick,” he said. “I remember. What?” She’d gone pale.

“Nothing,” she said.

“You liked me,” he said. “We liked each other.” He glanced at the baby in the rearview mirror. “She looks asleep.”

“She likes to sleep in the car,” Darcy said. “Why are you turning here?” He’d pulled into a mall parking lot.

“We’re gonna switch cars now,” he said.

“How?” she said.

“I’m gonna steal one,” he said. He cruised the aisles, looking for the right make and model. “A common one. Then we’re gonna buy you a burner phone.”

 

Brock had her check into the hotel. He got to hold the baby as she looked around the room. At least she’d relaxed a little. When he’s sent her into the gas station, she’d looked utterly terrified that he would drive off with Sophie. She’d made him park where she could see him. “Does it have to be a place that looks like there are bedbugs?” she said, glaring at the room and then him.

“No cameras,” he said. “Besides, we’ll just sit tight until Thor gets here.”

“Don’t get blood on her,” she said.

“She’s swaddled,” he said defensively. “You want your old man to hold you, huh?” Sophie gurgled happily. “See, she likes me.”

“She likes men,” Darcy said, sitting down. She rooted through her bag. 

“That’s you, huh?” he said dryly.

“Bite me, Rumlow,” she said sharply.

“You bit my ass, if I remember correctly.” He grinned. “Sober.”

“She likes men because Thor talked to her in-utero,” Darcy said. He nodded. He would have talked to her, he thought, had he known.

“Call them,” he said. “I’ll leave as soon as he touches down.” She looked at him intently.

“You mean that?”

“I just want you to be safe,” he said. He felt tired, now that his adrenaline had faded. “I’m gonna check this,” he said, gesturing to his wound. Grant had reopened one of the places that the hospital had stitched up. “Let you have privacy.”

“Okay,” she said. She watched as he kissed the baby gently and brought her over, before he went to the bathroom.

 

She turned to look when he came out. “I called. He’ll be here soon,” he said. He nodded. “Do you want, um, something for your skin? I have triple antibiotic cream?”

“I’m all right,” he said. “Can I?” He held his arms out. She nodded and passed Sophie back to him. The smell of his daughter’s hair was faintly soothing. They sat quietly until he heard a roll of distant thunder. 

“That’s him,” Darcy said. He nodded. 

“I’ll check.” She held Sophie while he went to the window. A few moments later, he saw Thor striding across the dark lot.

“It’s him,” he said, tucking his gun away. “You’ve got everything, right?” He’d brought in all her belongings, including the car seat. He wanted to check before he left in the car. 

“Yeah,” she said. “Did you---did you want to say goodbye to her?” He nodded again and held Sophie until they heard Thor’s booming knock. Darcy let him in. Brock passed Sophie back to her.

“Be safe,” he said quietly, then trudged slowly out to the parking lot. It had started to rain. Hot, humid rain. When he turned on the car’s headlights, she and the baby were silhouetted in the doorway. 

 

He lifted his hand, then drove carefully away. He got a few miles down the interstate before he broke down.

 

***

 

“How are you doing?” Jane said quietly. It had been months since Grant Ward’s death in her Florida safe house. They’d given up on witness protection. Instead, Jane had taken a job at Stark Industries in New York. Darcy was vaguely aware that Captain America was after her baby’s fake father, but Thor had somehow convinced him to make it low priority. She’d been told Rumlow was being quiet, although she had her suspicions that he was hacking HYDRA accounts for money. Paperwork had come right after her move declaring that Sophie now had a college fund run through a bank in Switzerland. Darcy got regular child support payments drawn out of another fund, too. 

“I’m all right,” Darcy said, looking over at Jane in the lab. 

“You don’t seem all right?” Jane said.

“I’ve just been thinking: what does it say about my taste in men that Rumlow”--she made her voice low--”is probably a better father than lots of people I can think of?” She meant Ian. But the AI recorded everything. Jane nodded. 

“It’s pretty screwed up,” the scientist admitted. “What’s he been up to, anyway?”

“I dunno. JARVIS, what’s Soph’s dad been doing?” Darcy asked.

“His whereabouts remain unknown,” the AI said politely. “But it appears that there is a package waiting downstairs for Miss Sophia in his handwriting.”

“What?” Jane said.

“It is presently being scanned for explosive devices, but will be with you shortly,” the AI said.

When the package arrived, Darcy unfolded it carefully. Jane came over to look. “Oh God,” she said. “There’s a card. He sent her a plush penguin and some books for her birthday.” She was turning one in two weeks. “Dr. Seuss and--” Darcy said. She lost it a little when she looked at the second book.

 _“The Wonderful Things You Will Be,”_ Jane said, reading the title aloud.

 


	59. Where's Cap When You Need Him?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Villain Wrangler Darcy” for @itsjaili

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

“You want me to do what?” Darcy said, staring at Maria Hill. “I applied for a job filing paperwork!”

“All our paperwork has been leaked,” Maria said, sighing. “What we need you to do is monitor and help rehabilitate them. You’ll be perfectly safe. It’s a state-of-the-art facility. They’re wearing our new collars”--

“That’s horrifying,” Darcy said.

“It’s necessary,” Maria said.

“I’m not a prison warden,” Darcy said. “I dropped criminal justice.”

“You can handle this, we envision you as more of a social director,” Maria told her. “The guards will handle anything disruptive. Would you like to take a tour?”

“Gee, great, a tour,” Darcy said. Maria had made it clear they were highly dangerous prisoners, but useful in case SHIELD ran out of superheroes and just needed some straight-up murderers.

She was driven to a boat ramp on one of DC’s rivers. “We’ve got to get on a boat,” Maria said. 

“A boat?” Darcy said. 

“There’s an island out there, technically undeveloped,” Maria said. “SHIELD owns it.”

“Great.” Darcy clamoured on board. The boat’s captain nodded. Obviously, an agent. He was armed. “My post-grad life plan is warden of SHIELD’s Alcatraz,” she muttered. “Dammit, Jane, why’d you leave me for space?” 

Darcy was given a taser rod and the remote that supposedly operated their collars, “just in case.” Jane would not approve, Darcy thought.

  
  


The prison was small, but grim. State of the art, yes, but entirely concrete and reinforced plexiglass cells. No privacy. No comforts. “You want me to rehabilitate people here?” she said, even more horrified than she’d been before, as they walked down a hallway.

“Yes,” Maria said, using her key to access another room. There were five cells. Three were labeled for a prisoner: J. Rollins, B. Rumlow, and I. Vanko. Two were empty. Darcy looked at the men in the cells. Of course, they were all dudes. Vanko, a battered man with prison tattoos on his knuckles, watched her from his pillow. A feral faced, tall man--Rollins--stared at her as if his gaze alone could kill. The man in the third cell put his hands behind his head and grinned at her. He was horrifically scarred. 

“Hey, sweetheart. You the new cruise director?” he said. 

“Be respectful Rumlow,” Maria said. Vanko chuckled; Rollins stared ahead homicidally.

“Okay, Maria,” Rumlow said. When Maria turned, he winked at Darcy.

“He is not being respectful,” Vanko said in a heavy accent. “Is disrespectful.”

“You trying to win brownie points, Ivan?” Rumlow said.

_ Shit, I’m gonna die here,  _ Darcy thought. But she didn’t have a choice. Not really. SHIELD could put her in one of the empty cells.

 

It went horribly at first. “So,” Darcy said on day one, “what would make your situation better?” The feral-looking one, Rollins, literally never spoke to her, just looked like he was going to stroke out. She looked to the next man. Vanko asked for his bird. “I’m not sure if I can get a bird here, but I’ll see,” Darcy said.

“Bird is good for morale of everyone,” Vanko said. Rollins huffed angrily. He sounded like a pissed off rhino.

“I’m sure a bird would be,” Darcy said. She wondered if a parakeet in her central, common area--outside the cells--would survive. She didn’t want bird death on her conscience.

“I would like pizza,” Rumlow said.

“I can definitely do that,” Darcy said. She’d asked about improving the food. It would be an easy tactic.

“I also want a punching bag. And, uh, since we’re real lonely---” he said, grinning. There was something salacious in his look.

“No,” Darcy snapped.

“All right, fine,” he said, holding his arms up. “You’re no fun.”

“You’re a walking lawsuit,” she told him.

“Sue me. I’ll give you everything I have,” he said. Darcy rolled her eyes. When he persisted and actually touched her arm during one of their group free time afternoons, she zapped him with the taser.  But that didn’t slow him down. Rumlow was a chatterbox. He talked constantly. He declared his new punching bag--the guards stood with Darcy when the men were in the common area--”subpar, but liveable.” He talked her ear off about pizza toppings. She heard his opinions about wine (all good), baseball (too slow), and Rudy Giuliani’s love life (this was a tangent Darcy was ill-prepared to visualize). Rumlow talked and talked and talked. He pretended to be interested in the therapeutic techniques and activities Darcy introduced, like calming meditation (for Rollins, who seemed to grunt less) and two parakeets (for Vanko). It made her feel a little crazy. Darcy could swear that she heard his voice in her ears when she went back to her own cottage residence on the prison grounds. Finally, one day, about three weeks in, she broke. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she said. “Do you ever not talk?”

Rumlow stared, slack-jawed. Rollins started to laugh. He laughed so hard, he held his chest. “You make Rollins laugh, this is breakthrough,” Vanko said. He was feeding the parakeets. Darcy had decided Vanko was her most cooperative charge. He seemed content to talk to birds, nap, and read Russian literature.

“Hey, no need to make fun of me, assholes,” Rumlow said. “I thought it was talk therapy?”

“We’re going to do silent therapy today,” Darcy said, grinning. Everyone was quiet. It was oddly restful. Before she left for the night, Darcy set up a small ipod and speaker to come on when the lights went out. It played ocean sounds. Along with blankets and pillows in the cells and stuff in the common area, it was her contribution to a homey atmosphere. It was a little dorm room, but Rumlow had said Rollins liked the ocean. 

“Goodnight, Lewis,” Rumlow said, watching her with his dark eyes. She knew not to confuse his facade of normalcy for the truth: he’d been HYDRA. He’d lied to Captain America himself. 

“Goodnight,” Darcy said. She wished Steve could come along to rescue her from this situation. She really didn’t understand why she was there. 

 

“Hey, Lewis, you’re late,” Rumlow said the next day. She’d overslept and had run behind all morning. She did reports on them daily. She had no idea who read the reports, but she said everyone was making progress and sent them on. She'd dismissed the guards, so it was just her and them now.

“Yup,” Darcy said neutrally. Rumlow looked funny. “What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” he said.

“Okay,” Darcy said. She was prepping them to get to play video games--her system depended upon rewards, she was all carrot and minimal stick--when Rumlow spoke again.

“You meet somebody? You’re glowing,” he said. “You hooked up with one of those private security assholes crawling all over this place, didn’t you?”

“You are rude. Is private business,” Vanko said.

“Thank you, Ivan,” Darcy said. In his bunk, Rollins rolled over. He yawned with a yelping coyote sound. That meant he was in a good mood.

“You did,” Rumlow said. “Which one? The guy with the cop ‘stache?”

“Are you high?” Darcy said.

“The blonde dude who looks like Cap if you squint?” he guessed.

“You think about Cap a lot, Rumlow?” Darcy said, unlocking their cells.

“No,” he said defensively. “Just, you know, thinking about which guys here your age and stuff--”

“Calm down, Page Six, I didn’t hook up with anybody,” Darcy said.

“No?” he said.

“Impertinent,” Vanko said.

“Yes! That’s you. Exactly,” Darcy said, pointing at Rumlow. 

“Hey,” he began, when her phone rang. It was her emergency line. Maria. 

“Hello?” Darcy said.

“It’s Hill,” Maria said in a clipped voice. “We have a problem. Thad Ross is on his way.”

“Oh,” Darcy said.

“Ross has a kill order. I need you to let them out,” Hill said. 

“W-what?” Darcy said. Rumlow’s head jerked up.

“What is it?” he said.

“Rumlow knows the protocol, okay?” Hill said. “Just make it look like an escape. You have fifteen minutes, max. Go.” The call ended. Darcy looked up.

“What’s wrong?” Rumlow said. Darcy grabbed some of her craft paper.

_ Ross is coming. I’m letting you out,  _ she wrote down quickly. She added a line:  _ Take my taser and tase me. _

“No,” he said. “Fuck no.” 

“Don’t argue,” Darcy said bluntly, raising her voice. This would make it look better. “Or I’ll put you back in the cell.” She raised the taser and waved it.

“I’m not fucking doing it," Rumlow said mulishly. Rollins stepped over to see the note.

“You gotta fucking do what she says, mate,” Rollins said in a soft voice, too low for the monitors. It was the first thing Darcy had heard him say.

“No--” Rumlow was saying, when Jack snatched the taser, made a violent sound, and shocked her with it. 

“Sorry,” he whispered, as she crumpled. 

Darcy’s last coherent thought was off-topic:  _ He was Australian?  _

  
  


She woke up to the sound of something slapping the water and bickering voices. “You weren’t s’posed to bring her with us!” Jack was saying. 

“I wasn’t fucking leaving her with Ross!”

“You’re just sweet on her, is all.” Darcy groaned and tried to sit up.

“Don’t move, sweetheart,” Brock said.

“Where am I?” she said.

“Rowboat,” he said. 

“Technically, you’ve been kidnapped, darl,” Jack said.

“Oh, shit,” she said. “Where’s Vanko?”

“Took his birds and split,” Rumlow said. 

“Nobody here but us undercover agents,” Jack said, sounding oddly ebullient.

“Huh?” Darcy asked.  “Undercover?”

“We sort of defected from HYDRA,” Rumlow said.

“It was real late in the match, so we’re having to play clean up by pretending to be bad a bit longer,” Jack said. “Stuck us here ‘til we could be useful in something. Ross’s making things difficult.”

“What about Vanko?” she asked.

“Nawt, he’s genuinely a bad ‘un,” Jack said.

“But actually a good scientist,” Rumlow said. “I told him to look us up in Europe.”

“We don’t have a kit for her,” Jack said.

“I’ll think of something,” Rumlow said.

“Why not let me go?” she said.

“Look at that,” Jack said, whistling. He looked at Brock. “You want to take that one?”

“Well, uh,” Rumlow said. He frowned. Scrunched his nose. “It’d be a free trip, if you came along?”

“Came along?” Jack muttered, laughing.

“A free trip?” Darcy said. 

“Yeah,” Rumlow said. He looked at Jack venomously. “Shut the fuck up, Kangaroo Jack.” 

“Jane said something similar once. That ended real well,” Darcy said archly. “This is just wonderful.”

“Is that a yes?” Rumlow said, looking pleased.

“Fine,” Darcy said. Jack started to laugh.

“This is going to be a trip,” he said.

  
  



	60. Every Man Gets His Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A vaguely sugar daddy-ish Rumlow for Britt1975 while I work on a longer Brock/Darcy sugar baby fic that's driving me crazy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

Darcy was walking through the parking garage at SHIELD’s new headquarters when she heard a noise behind her. It was late. “Hello?” she said, looking over her shoulder. No one was there. But it was creepy. The fluorescents buzzed above her. She gripped her keychain taser a little more tightly. After a pause, she walked faster. With Jane in space with Thor, she’d taken an administrative job in the agency’s Technical Analysis department. SHIELD was rebuilding after the aborted HYDRA takeover. Her days were fairly quiet. They should have been safe, too. But Darcy heard footsteps behind her. “All right, fucker,” she yelled, turning with the taser aimed.

“Miss Lewis?” a male voice said politely. A figure in tactical gear was walking a few feet behind her.

“Commander Rumlow,” Darcy said, lowering her hand. The SHIELD agent ran STRIKE Alpha. He was one of the agents who’d been embedded in HYDRA, working for Fury. She’d heard gossip that he’d let Steve and Natasha escape back then. It was deeply ironic that being within HYDRA had saved his life: their serums had kept him from dying when Triskelion fell. Darcy had been told about it so she wouldn’t stare at his burns.

“Just got back,” he said.

“Oh,” she said. “Successful mission?”

“Classified,” he said, smirking. He was a fucking wiseass, she thought.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “Well, don’t, uh, let me keep you. I’m sure you’re tired.” 

“No,” he said, then licked his lips. Darcy waited for him to say something. She had been waiting for weeks, ever since she’d noticed his eyes following her during staff meetings. She’d smiled encouragingly. She’d started wearing boob-flattering clothes on days when they were in proximity. They ran into each other frequently, but nothing happened. He watched her as closely as ever, but he never asked her out. They’d even sat across from one another at Cameron Klein’s birthday dinner. Whenever she looked away, she could feel his eyes on her, but he hadn’t said a word that wasn’t generally polite. He didn’t seem to want to talk. He was always leaning back, looking away, and sighing as his eyes studied her. Darcy looked at him now. His hair was blue-black in the harsh light.  He shifted from one foot to another. Darcy realized he wasn’t going to talk.

“You have a goodnight,” she said. He nodded. 

“You, too, Darcy,” he said. He seemed to pronounce her name oddly. She turned back and tried to carry her bag gracefully to her car. He was standing by an SUV, talking to Jack Rollins, another of the triple agents, when she pulled out of her space. As she drove towards the exit ramp, she looked in her rearview mirror. He was looking at her again.  

 

Three glasses of wine later, she was sitting in her apartment having ideas. Darcy sometimes had epiphanies when she’d had enough wine. She had a personal laptop she took back and forth that was hers, but registered with SHIELD for security purposes. Darcy wasn’t the best hacker at SHIELD, but she was good. Brock Rumlow seemed to have a sixth sense of where she would be, she’d realized. That couldn’t be random, could it? Cameron Klein had taught her some of the HYDRA tricks, so she’d recognize them. One of them was how to embed a trace in someone’s SHIELD badge. Or their laptop. Cam had taught her how to trace them without being caught, too. She had a special flashdrive. She plugged it into her laptop. Several minutes later, Darcy had an IP address. The IP address for whoever was monitoring her work computer, her personal laptop, and her building movements. From within SHIELD. They’d been watching her for weeks.  “Interesting,” she said out loud. Their was an in-house way of tracing an IP address to a particular computer, but she didn’t think she needed to bother with trying that at work. Unless---

 

Odds were, he checked her searches, didn’t he? Why not send a different kind of signal? 

 

She drafted and then deleted a dating profile on her laptop saying she was looking for older men. Specified dark hair. Then she did a few web searches that she thought might get his attention. Played all the unreleased Lana del Rey songs with the word “daddy” in them that she could think of, laughing to herself. She couldn’t wait to tell Jane about this. She threw in “Every Man Gets His Wish,” too. 

 

Even if it wasn’t him, she’d be amused if that information made its way into SHIELD’s extensive gossip mill. Darcy was a little bored. She wanted excitement. 

 

***

 

She was making coffee and humming “Caught You Boy” to herself in the breakroom when he stepped in. Darcy looked over her shoulder. She was deviating from her usual routine. She thought there might have been a fraction of surprise in his expression: he’d been talking to Jack and then paused and had to say the word “reports” a second time. 

“Hello, boys,” Darcy said. “How’s the world-saving business?”

“Fair to middling,” Jack said. He was actually Australian. His accent made a cute contrast with his feral expressions.

“Better luck tomorrow,” she said, stepping away from the counter. She moved to leave and walked on Rumlow’s side of the table, squeezing past him. “Whoops, excuse me, honey,” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, turning to give her more room. Of course, he timed it badly: her boobs grazed his chest. 

“Sorry,” she said. She’d only meant to suggest a preference by choosing his side of the room, not commit full-blown workplace harassment.

“Not a problem,” he said quickly, then looked like he wanted to take it back.

“Thanks,” she said. “Technically, you could sue me. Probably.”

“I wouldn’t,” he said, expression going blank.

“Should I ask for that in writing?” she joked. “A nice contract?”

“Not necessary,” he said, swallowing. He looked...funny. She was a little disappointed in his lack of flirtation initiative. Still, she made sure to look at the dating websites again and threw in an extra websearch for good underwear that night. She ordered some, just for fun. She might wear it sometime. 

 

You’d think a SHIELD agent would be better at reading hints, really.

 

Darcy didn’t run into him for a week. There were rumors of a Malayasian mission. But she’d heard STRIKE Alpha and Epilson were back by Tuesday and nobody had been seriously hurt. She’d honestly forgotten--they were in the midst of several level orange priority cases--when she felt _something_ nagging at her and looked up. Through the glass walls, she could see him talking to Sharon Carter in the adjoining room. But he was looking at her. His head swiveled away from her direction. She looked back down. Forwarded the files they were working on to another employee. She looked back up. He was staring again. She actually caught Sharon waving a hand in front of his face and had to duck her own face down to hide her laughter. “What is it?” Cameron Klein asked. He sat behind her.

“Sharon’s being a total badass with Rumlow, it’s very impressive,” she said.

“Oh, yeah. No fear. She pulled a gun on him during the Uprising,” Cam said.

“Really?” Darcy said. She looked up again. Rumlow was leaving the room. He walked past their glass wall, looking straight ahead. Pointedly. Darcy let herself make eye contact with him. He turned his head more towards her. His eye followed her as he moved forward.

“I think we’re busted,” Cam whispered. “Did you see his jaw clench? He really hates me.”

“How could he hate you? You’re a mensch, Cam,” she said.

  


She sat with Cam at lunch. The new office had its own lawn, so several of them sat outside together on blankets. The STRIKE teams usually hogged tables on the patio--technically for “emergency” reasons--but it was oddly like high school. They were the SHIELD version of jock kids, she thought with a snort, as she spread her blanket next to Cam’s. Darcy had fun sitting out on the lawn, though. They were her people. Kenzie in Forensics told the best gruesome crime scene stories and Cam was willing to listen to her ramble about music almost as much as Jane. “What are you listening to now?” he asked.

“Unreleased Lana,” Darcy said.

“Uh-oh,” Kenzie said.

“What?”

“That means one of two things: either you’re depressed or you need to get laid,” Kenzie said. Cam laughed.

“Shush,” Darcy said. “It’s good music.” 

“Can I listen?” Cam asked. She passed him her earbuds and the tapped a playlist. “Oh,” he said after a minute, sighing. “I definitely need both.”

“Both?” Darcy said. She’d been momentarily distracted by the sight of Rumlow moving along the patio’s edge. She recognized his walk.

“He’s depressed and he needs to get laid,” Kenzie said, snorting. “Just ask out Carter, all right?”

“I can’t do that,” Cam said. “She’s so...tall.”

“Didn’t she save you when she thought you were going to be killed by fake-HYDRA Rumlow?” Darcy said. She collected all Rumlow-adjacent gossip.

“Yeah,” Cam said, sighing. “She’s a total badass.”

“Cam,” Kenzie scolded.

“She dated Captain America!” he said defensively. “I can’t follow that. Besides, I’m pretty sure Grandpa Stan would rise out of the grave if I dated Cap’s girl.” He huffed.

“Fine,” Kenzie said. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”

“Huh?” Darcy said. She’d lain down on the blanket to watch the sky.

“You just need to ask out Rumlow, I see you watching him all the time,” she said.

“He started it,” Darcy said. “The watching.” 

“I think he’s just giving me the evil eye,” Cam said. Darcy rolled her head towards the patio. Rumlow was talking to a guy from STRIKE Foxtrot, but she thought he glanced over. He was radiating irritation.

“He does look pissed off,” she admitted.

“Because you’re laying on the ground next to Cam, idiot,” Kenzie said. “Go ask him out.”

“I want him to ask me,” Darcy said. “If I ask him, that’s giving away my power.” Kenzie shrieked with laughter.

“Your power?” she said finally.

“My allure as a woman,” Darcy said. “It’s something Natasha says. A man needs to think it’s his idea to chase you.”

“I wish I could chase Sharon,” Cam said.

“You could,” Darcy said, patting him reassuringly.

“I get shin splints,” he said, laughing.

 

That night, Darcy actually uploaded a profile to a sugar daddy website before she went to bed. She thought that might spur...something.  But nothing happened. Not at work and not on the website. She got zero responses that week. “Am I too old to be a sugar baby?” she asked Kenzie at lunch.

“Not if the daddy is old enough,” she said.

“That’s weird,” Cam said. “You should, statistically, get some response.” She hadn’t told them about her suspicions of a Rumlow bug. It sounded too crazy. Just that she wanted to date somebody. Kenzie approved of her plan. 

“Statistically,” Darcy repeated, giggling. 

“As long as you’re getting out there,” Kenzie said. Darcy shrugged. Not technically, she thought.

 

She was at home that night, watching TV, when her laptop dinged. It was an offer. Her first--and only--one. No photos of the man. But he’d already paypal’d her money through the secondary email she used for the site. “What is this for?” she asked via message. His reply was immediate.

“Whatever you want,” he said.

“No,” she typed back. “I mean, what do you want for your money?” There was a pause.

“Conversation,” he replied.

“Sure,” she typed back. At first, she wasn’t sure if it was him, but his questions gave him away. For one, he never asked about her work. Instead, he asked about music. Like he knew she listened to it constantly. And he was MIA when STRIKE Alpha was gone. “Don’t freak out about this, I know it’s him,” she told Jane, when Jane telephoned from space. She’d conditioned Jane to understand exactly which him.

“Just be careful, okay? Don’t get murdered!” Jane said.

“You stole that from a podcast,” Darcy said.

“I worry this whole thing is generally unhealthy,” Jane said.

“I kept you alive for two years while you moped about Thor!” Darcy said.

“How do you think I know?” Jane said.

“Oh. Well. Thank you?” Darcy said. “What can I do, though?”

“Well, for a start, confirm it’s him before you meet him anywhere,” Jane said. “And we’re sure he’s not really HYDRA?”

“Yeah, Janeybug, we’re sure,” Darcy said. “I don’t think he wants my part of your research, anyway.” Her paperwork from Jane’s work consisted of a calender with Jane’s appointments and a kindergarten-style “Sleep and Eat” chart Darcy had made once. “Unless he doesn’t remember to sleep, too,” she added, laughing.

“Just for that, I hope he’s an insomniac,” Jane said. She was touchy about the chart. She’d been a little mad when Darcy had unveiled it in front of several notable PhDs. But Doctor Bittendorfer--the Nobel Prize one--had said it was adorable!

 

After three weeks of evening conversation via texting and some more intensified staring at work--again, with that sixth sense about when she was home--she offered to talk to him on the phone. He said yes. That surprised her. When the phone rang, she answered. “Hello?”

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. Definitely him. She knew. Not because she’d partially recorded part of a staff meeting where he’d talked about security protocols and listened to it a bunch or anything. 

“Hi, daddy,” she said. “How was your day?” She heard his audible choke.

“You can’t just say that,” he said, voice wry. Did he think she couldn’t recognize him? 

“I thought you’d like it,” she said, tamping down the urge to call him commander. 

“I do. Too much. I like you,” he added.

“Really?” she said archly.

“Fuck yes,” he said. “I’m going crazy.”

“Why not ask me out sometime? Meet me in person?” she said. He paused. 

“I don’t fucking know,” he said finally. 

“Did you want to telephone date?” she offered.

“Yes,” he said, quickly. “Absolutely.”

 

Further confirmation that it was him: he didn’t ask for nudes or anything like. Instead, he wanted to know what she liked. He was treating it like a real date. “You’re being very considerate,” Darcy told him, after several conversations.

“I’m old,” he said.

“How old?”

“A hundred.” She laughed. 

“I don’t believe you,” she said. 

“No?”

“I’m sure you don’t look a day over eighty,” she sassed. He sighed and laughed simultaneously. 

“Remind me to cut off your payments,” he said dryly. “What are you buying?”

“A lot of things,” she said casually. It was difficult not to say _you know_ when she was fairly sure he was watching her web traffic _._ Actually, she’d ordered a bunch of mini perfume splashes in scents like Birthday Cake and Strawberry Sundae, just for fun. “All of them are frivolous,” she added.

“Good,” he said. “I want you to have fun.”

“You worried I don’t have enough fun?” she said.

“Does anybody?” he said, sounding suddenly tired. 

“You want to discuss that?” she said, curious.

“Not really,” he said. There was a pause. “All I do is work,” he said. “I work, I got to the gym, I go home and sleep. I don’t have a fucking life.”

“Yeah?” she said. He sighed again.

“If I--if we went out, you’d be bored with me,” he said. 

“I’m not bored now,” she pointed out. 

“Trust me,” he said. “I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“Isn’t that what a catfish would say?” she offered teasingly. “Are you really a married woman in Omaha named Janet?” That made him laugh. She liked his laugh. 

“Janet from Omaha,” he repeated.

“Her husband’s named Kevin,” Darcy said. “He has no idea about us.”

“Maybe I should let you do all the talking,” he said.

“Why not, I’m good at it?” she said.

“Tell me about my life in Omaha, then,” he said.

“Ummm, let’s see. Kevin. Kevin’s a good guy. Works for UPS, probably. Maybe you’re Methodists”--

“My Catholic mother would be horrified, but go on,” he said.

“And you’ve always lived this very sensible life, in your ranch house. But Janet probably feels a little reckless,” Darcy said. “Like she wants to be someone else for a change, have an adventure, maybe be someone who’s left Nebraska. So, she catfishes me.”

“Hold on, that’s a big leap for my character,” he said. “What’s my mind doing between ‘leave Nebraska’ and catfishing the gorgeous girl?”

“Thank you,” Darcy said politely.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

“I think maybe you don’t think I’m a real person, not really,” Darcy said. “Since I’m the gorgeous girl, you assume I’m overwhelmed with male attention and what you’re doing feels small at first. A little tiny lie. And then another one. Just small tricks. You’re only doing it because it feels good to talk to someone. You like talking to me. But now you’re so invested, how do you tell me who you really are? You’re so caught up on your side of things, it would never occur to you consider that I have feelings, too.”

 

There was a long moment of silence on the line. She’d have thought he hung up, but she could hear him breathing. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Am I hurting your feelings?”

“If you don’t actually ask me out, my feelings are going to be definitely dented,” she said.

“Okay,” he said. There was another pause. “Wednesday? You want to meet me for coffee?”

“Where?” she said.

  


***

She was waiting in a DC coffee shop with a thudding heart on Wednesday at seven-thirty-eight. He was late. Had he stood her up? It was possible there had been an emergency, she thought. She stretched her arms and waited. After another ten minutes, she rose. No point in waiting if there had been a world crisis or something. Or maybe he’d chickened out. A pity. 

 

She’d gone outside and had taken a few steps when someone said her name. She turned. He was jogging down the sidewalk. “Darcy!” he repeated. Then he realized she’d seen him. He slowed down.

“Commander Rumlow,” she said. He was moving directly at her.

“I’m sorry I was late,” he said. He stopped a few feet in front of her.

“World saving business?” she said. 

“Yeah,” he said. She moved closer, walking directly into his arms. 

“I think I can forgive you,” she said, putting her hands over his shoulders. He held her as if he wasn’t quite certain she was there. Darcy decided it was up to her to make the first move. She leaned up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on the hollow of his throat. He had a nice neck. She had thought a lot about that neck. He inhaled sharply. “I knew it was you,” she said. 

“You did?” He swallowed.

“I had my suspicions.”

“You’re not angry?”

“Nope, but I know what you’ve been up to,” she told him.

“Everything?”

“Everything. Including my laptop.”

“You smell good,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said, kissing his jawline.

“Which one is this?” he said. 

“Hmmm?” she said.

“Of the little perfume bottles you ordered?” he said.

“Birthday Cake,” she said. “I thought it was appropriate for birthdays.”

“It’s not my birthday,” he said.

“Relationship birthday,” she said. “Or possibly a dirty joke about cake. Take me home?” He blinked at her and then seemed to come alive, leaning down to scoop her up and toss her over his shoulder. She started to laugh as he carried her down the sidewalk. People stared.

“What?” he said. 

“I may have made a crucial error. I don’t think I anticipated the upper body strength,” she said.

“Eh,” he said, making a cute face. “You don’t know everything, sweetheart.”

“Yeah?” she said, bouncing slightly on his shoulder.

“I’ve seen your search history, but you haven’t seen mine.”

“Ooooooh,” she said, laughing.


	61. Magic Numbers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> itsjaili said:  
> "Hello! I found an interesting thing recently: a condition called Dyscalculia. Basically number dyslexia, very interesting read as I honestly think I have it (how does something as esoteric as that get diagnosed anyway?!) But I thought it might be an interesting prompt if Darcy has it, Jane knows and understands the hoops she has to jump through to get certain things done and Brock is a big old insensitive derp about it without knowing."
> 
> Done! I loved working numbers into this, although this Darcy's opinions might owe more to my introverted, math-phobic, Dateline-loving self than my usual extrovert Darcy :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! Thanks for your comments and kudos!

“You need to do something,” Jane told Darcy, stealing the TV remote. She paused the episode of _Bewitched_ that Darcy was watching. 

“Excuse me?” Darcy said. “I am doing something. I’m watching Sam turn Darrin’s sexist client into a dog.”

“With your life,” the scientist added. Jane put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been giving this some thought and I think you’ve gone, well, stagnant, okay?”

“What?” Darcy said. Jane took a deep breath and counted off on her fingers.

“You aren’t using your political science MA”--

“Because I work for you!” Darcy cut in. “Which I thought you were fine with? Would you like to train a baby astrophysicist to make coffee the way I do?”

“Nooo,” Jane said slowly. “I think it’s okay that you work for me, it’s just the totality of it all--”

“It all?” Darcy said.

“You go to work and you come home and watch the same episodes of TV over and over,” Jane said, ticking off another finger. “You never go out anymore. You’ve given up on taking any astrophysics classes like you thought you would--”

“The math,” Darcy groaned. “Besides, I paid off my loans six months ago. I like being debt free!”

“But you don’t do anything else, either. You don’t read that much anymore, you’ve gained twenty pounds, you haven’t dated anyone since Ian, you don’t exercise or have any meaningful hobbies,” Jane said. “I’m really worried about you.”

“Ughhhh, please shut up, you are terrible at this,” Darcy said. “Also, I read!” She read fanfics every day, she wanted to point out. 

“I get that you’re depressed because your cat died and we didn’t get approved to get a puppy from that rescue because we’ve moved too much, but really, you need to do something besides write _Psych_ fanfiction on the couch.”

“Um, hello, I have a following, okay? The show underwrote Juliet in the final seasons, I’m providing a service by writing stories were she and Shawn have actual fun, instead of her nagging him,” Darcy insisted. Jane sighed. She didn’t get fanfiction, probably because she was so into original research.

“I just want you to do one thing for me?” Jane asked.

“What?”

“Go on a date,” Jane said.

  
***

“God, this is terrible,” Darcy said to Jane, as they pulled into a parking space at the restaurant. She had agreed to go on one double-date with Jane and her current love interest, an Australian STRIKE agent called Jack Rollins. Jane and Thor had gone on a break and Jack--who was extraordinarily tall and buff and been heroically triple agenting in HYDRA during the headquarters battle thingy--had swooped in to woo Jane when they met at a combined R&D and field agent event. He was a nice dude. In Darcy’s opinion, he was no Thor, but she was permanently set on nostalgia for 2013 or something? That was one of Jane’s other observations: that Darcy seemed to be stuck in the past. But was it so wrong to wish she was still in her twenties, her cat was alive, and she could still fit into her old leggings? The past seemed infinitely better to Darcy than a future of getting older and more tired and finding more grey hairs?

“It’s not that bad,” Jane said, looking at the restaurant. She’d said the same thing when they’d moved into their suburban lab at SHIELD’s new, sprawling complex. Darcy had preferred Europe: chocolate croissants were easier to find.

“Your cute boyfriend has brought some guy to be my pity date and we’re at Olive Garden,” Darcy said.

“So?” Jane said, opening her car door.

“I could make better jokes if we went to Outback, that’s all I’m saying,” Darcy said. She sighed as she got out. “I feel tired already.”

“That’s depression, Darce.”

“Shut up, I shaved my freaking legs,” she told Jane. “Depressed people wouldn’t do that.”

Darcy’s date looked her up and down and made a face that was a cross between an eh and a glower. He would have been cute, except that he was clearly unimpressed by her. He seemed to eye her outfit--or was he looking at her belly?--with some skepticism. “It’s nice to meet you,” she said politely.

“Darcy’s a funny girl, Brock,” Jack supplied. Her date had the improbable name of Brock Rumlow. He was technically Jack’s boss.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ve been told you have a great personality.” His voice was wry. Was he just fucking with her? What an asshole, she thought. Old asshole. He was at least forty five. He should be flattered that she’d date him! She was younger than him, cute, and she had great boobs. She wasn’t somebody you described as a “good personality” date!

Darcy had only been there five minutes when she wished she was at home, in her pjs, browsing Petfinder and drinking hot cocoa. She loved hot cocoa. Especially with a fistful of marshmallows. This Rumlow guy had already announced that he didn’t eat refined, white sugar. He was goddamn delight, she thought sarcastically. “I don’t even know what the fuck that is and I grew up with Sicilians,” he said suddenly, interrupting her musing on whether or not she had any peppermint schnapps in the cabinet.

“Hmm?” she said.

“My grandparents lived with us,” he explained. “They were Sicilians. That,” he pointed at an image on the menu. “What the fuck is it?”

“Lasagna mia,” Darcy sounded out doubtfully. “It looks kinda like a lasagna had a weird baby with a fifties Jell-O mold.”

“No shit, it does,” Rumlow said. Darcy caught Jack’s flash of a grin and realized that he’d planned this. Probably just to provoke Rumlow into colorful _I’m an Italian, Get Me Outta Here!_ -type rants. Rumlow had missed it. “This is an abomination,” he muttered to himself, looking at the menu.

She ordered one of their quartinos of wine. Rumlow looked up. “Make that a whole bottle,” he told the waiter. 

“You like rosé?” she said.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “And I’m gonna need a drink to eat anything on his menu.” 

“Mate, you’ll be fine,” Jack said. “You survived worse.”

“Have I?” Rumlow said, voice laced with irony. Darcy tried not to feel judged and like her date needed to drink to survive the evening. She didn’t admit that she’d ordered first. She glanced at Jane. Based on Jane’s expression, Darcy realized she would be able to milk this bad date for _weeks._  

 _Awesome,_ Darcy thought, _I can trade one bad evening for a bunch of nights undisturbed._

 

She kept a polite smile on her face throughout dinner. Even when Rumlow bitched like Joan Crawford on a bender about his appetizer. Even when he gave her a look for drinking the last of the wine and ordering more breadsticks before their food arrived. “What do you think of the Italian margaritas?” Darcy crackled. She assumed he would be horrified. That seemed to be his primary setting. He flagged down their waiter.

“We want two of those Italian margaritas,” he said bluntly. Darcy cut her eyes at Jane.

“You’re driving, right?” she joked. “Because I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk to the parking lot.”

“We’ll make sure you get home okay,” Jack said cheerfully.

“Eat your terrible breadsticks,” Rumlow told her, “that’ll soak up the booze.”

“Okey dokey,” Darcy said. When he looked irritatedly at the bar to watch for his drink, Darcy waggled her eyebrows at Jane. Jack caught her eye and mouthed _sorry._ He was a good dude, Darcy thought, pitying him. He had to work with bitchy Brock Rumlow every single day! Was that why he was so calm during Jane’s science benders?

“Here they fucking are,” Rumlow said, as the tray of drinks made their way to the table, carried by the nervous-looking waiter.

“And oh look, here’s the food,” Darcy said cheerfully. Another set of waiters was heading for the table.

“Great,” he said. “Fucking fantastic.” He was glowering. That was probably why the waiter was nervous.

 

***

“Help me with the tip, Janey,” Darcy said at the end of the night. They were going to split the check. She had trouble with numbers. They got all mixed up in her head. There was a word for it, but she was too wasted to remember it at present.

“You can’t calculate 15% in your head?” Rumlow asked her. He said it rudely. Darcy heard Jane suck in a breath. Jane knew how she felt about math.

“She has a condition that impacts her reading of numbers,” the scientist said sternly. “It’s called dyscalculia.”

“It’s like dyslexia, but for math!” Darcy said, a smidge loudly.

“Oh. Sorry,” Rumlow said.

“S’okay, asshole,” Darcy said cheerfully.

“Are you drunk, darl?” Jack said.

“Yup,” she said. She looked Brock Rumlow dead in the eye. “And I always do twenty percent,” Darcy said. “Because I’m not cheap.”

“Give me that,” he said, snatching her bill. “I’m not cheap. I’ll take care of it.”

“That’s my bill!” Darcy said. “Give it back!”

“No,” he said. “I’m paying for it,” he grumbled.

“You’re both going to be paying for it tomorrow,” Jack muttered.

“He stole my bill!” Darcy said to Jane. 

“Let him,” Jane said, scorn barely concealed.

“Why’d you pick this place?” Rumlow said to Jack.

“He plotted against you!” Darcy said. “I sense mischief!”

“Yeah,” Rumlow said, glaring. “You did, didn’t you?”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “Now I have a question?” She looked around the table.

“Yeah?” Rumlow said.

“Who is carrying me to the car?” she announced.

 

“Wheeee!” Darcy said, swishing her feet.

“I had a good time, sweetheart,” Rumlow said. He was carrying her across the parking lot.

“What?” Darcy said, She burst out laughing. “Lies!” she shrieked. 

“No,” he began. “I really--”

“Stop,” Darcy said, squeezing his chest. “Stop!”

“What?” he said.

“We gotta give them a private moment.” Jack and Jane were ahead of them, kissing by Jane’s car. As she squeezed, Darcy snorted.

“What?” he repeated. He’d stopped, per her instructions.

“You’ve got big boobs!” she said, laughing.

“Those are muscles,” he said sternly. 

“Sure, sure,” she said, patting his chest. “You know who has the biggest ones, though?”

“Who?” he said, looking at her wryly.

“Steve!” Darcy said. “Big old man boobies.”

“Muscles,” he corrected with a smirk.

“Man cleavaaaaage,” Darcy insisted. 

“You’re a lightweight,” Rumlow said. “But you’re fun.”

“No, I’m not! All I do is stay home and eat Cheetos,” Darcy said. “But it’s nice.”

“Cheetos?” he said.

“Staying home,” she said. “Cozy. It’s nice staying in your pjs.”

“Yeah?” he said. “I think they’re done making out now.”

“Yup,” Darcy said, rolling her head back to peer at them. “Jane! Are you done kissing?” she called out. Rumlow started to laugh.

  
***

In the morning, Darcy was extremely hungover. “Oh, God,” she moaned, shuffling to the coffee maker. “I’m dying, Jane. I’m probably dead. I feel like the dead people in _Beetlejuice._ My brain has definitely shrunk.”

“I’m sorry about last night,” Jane said.

“Pfffht,” Darcy said. She was going to eke out weeks of happy loafing around the house out of this.

“Really sorry,” Jane repeated. 

“I have sworn vengeance on him for all eternity,” Darcy vowed, waiting for the blessed sound of the coffee splattering into her cup. The doorbell rang. She groaned. Loud sounds bad, her brain transmitted.

“I’ll get it,” Jane said.

“May Frigga and the Virgin bless you,” Darcy called out.

“Where did you come up with that?” Jane wondered aloud. 

“It’s me, I’m the Virgin now, I haven’t had sex in forever,” Darcy joked. Jane laughed. 

“You’re being funny today,” Jane said, at the door. Darcy heard her say hello, make a delighted sound, thank the person, and shut the door again. The deadbolt turned. “You’re not going to believe this!” Jane yelled.

“That being around assholes has awakened my sarcasm kraken?” Darcy called back. Jane came walking into the kitchen with an armload of peach-colored roses. “Awwww, sweet Jack!” Darcy said. “Those are stunning.”

“These are not from Jack. These are from Rumlow. He sent you flowers!” Jane said, looking oddly delighted. 

“What?” Darcy said. She looked at the card. “He wants to go on another date? I’ve sworn revenge on him and he wants to have dinner this week?” She looked at Jane. “I didn’t like, drunk-kiss him, did I?”

“No, but you were definitely rubbing his chest last night,” Jane said. “I saw you!”

“Ooops,” Darcy said. “This is a situation, Janeybug. He’s a giant b!”  Jane burst out laughing. “Ow,” Darcy complained. “My brain.”

“Sorry. Can I tell Jack you called him a bitch?”

“Yup.”

 

Darcy was sitting in the lab when Rumlow stopped by with Jack. Their offices and training facilities were in a separate part of SHIELD’s new campus. After the building collapse at Triskelion, someone had told Jane, priority had been given to a campus that could be evacuated more easily. “Hey,” Darcy said.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Rumlow said. He pulled a chair over with a shrill squeak. She winced. “Sorry,” he said.

“Thank you for the flowers,” Darcy said. 

“You feel like dinner?” he said. “Maybe in a few days?”

“If I’m not dead,” she muttered. She was trying to figure out how to play this to her benefit. How could she happily sloth on her couch if he was asking her on dates? But if she did this correctly, she’d get pity from Jane. Probably. “What day?” Darcy said. She slurped her coffee. He smiled. 

“Tuesday?” he offered. “I can bring you a hangover cure, honey?”

“That would be nice of you,” she said. _Damn,_ she thought. He was being nice. How was she supposed to deal with nice? As a cover, she asked a question. “How’s your day going?” Darcy asked. He sighed. 

“Bullshit, bullshit, and more bullshit, baby,” he said. He went off on a long tangential story about his new paperwork burden in the wake of the Uprising. She sipped her coffee again and that gave her ideas. He was a talker. He clearly liked to talk. He’d moved on to complaining about something else. 

“Anyway, I got another checkup with Cho--my burns shit,” he was saying. Darcy nodded. She was too hungover to focus and just letting the words flow in one ear and out the other. A pleasantly New York-ish version of white noise. She’d always liked that accent, weirdly. Then again, she’d liked Scottish radio when they were in Europe. “But I think Tuesday’ll work,” he said. 

“Cool,” Darcy said, tilting up her coffee cup. She slurped. Loudly. He raised an eyebrow.

“You need some more of that?” he asked.

“Oh God, yes,” Darcy said. His eyes lit up and he smirked.

“Say what now?” he teased. 

 

***

On Tuesday, he picked her up for dinner. “This is old-fashioned of you,” Darcy said.

“I’m old,” he joked.

“Oh, yeah,” she said slyly. “Ok, Pops, where we going?” He barked out a laugh. 

“A good restaurant,” he said. Darcy had decided she would be boring on their date. If she was dull, he’d be bored, right? She was thinking it was the perfect plan as she followed him into a very nice-looking restaurant. It was all dark paneled walls, soft music, and white tablecloths. Romantic atmosphere, she thought, with a sinking feeling. They were seated when she looked at him.

“So,” she said, trying to be flat and boring and dullsville. “Ummm. Tell me about you?” 

“Really?” he said. She miscalculated. It was a tragic error. He loved talking about himself. He could talk for hours: he told funny SHIELD injury stories (“so, Barton lands in a fucking cactus…”), gestured beautifully, and made her try different kinds of food (“no, no, you gotta try this, it’s great eggplant, baby”). He was annoyingly charming and personable, even if he clearly enjoyed his griping.

“What’s wrong with DC?” she said, when he’d mentioned something and then pulled a face.

“It’s a swamp,” he said.

“Oh,” she said, prepping for a political lecture. 

“I don’t mean politics. Politics is politics.” He leaned forward, smiling. “I mean, it’s a literal fucking swamp,” he said. “You sweat like a pig. I got guys from cold places passing out during training, just dropping.”

“Really?” Darcy said.

“Nobody thinks of DC as a southern town,” he complained. “But it is. Everything’s slow. Whole month of August, the entire Congress puts on their goddamned Col. Sanders white suits or just fucking leaves town. I miss hustle. In the New York office, we hustled. Now I got guys fainting like Scarlett O’Hara.” In spite of herself, Darcy laughed. 

“Is that right?” she said.

“Easier to find flavored sweet tea than another Italian,” he said, sighing. “Where are you from, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Virginia,” she said dryly. “The southeastern part.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “I just walked into that, huh?”

“Pretty much.” Her smile grew wider as he backpedaled.

“What’d you study? Astrophysics? That’s a good, solid major,” he said. “Not like this humanities stuff.” Darcy had to hold in a laugh.

“Actually, I studied political science. And I did a minor in art history,” she said. “The very definition of a solid major, huh?”

“Fuck,” he said. “First, I insult you about math…”

“That’s right, thank you for reminding me!” Darcy said cheerfully. “You’re just a major league asshole, huh?”

“I don’t even know what to say,” he said, rubbing his jaw. “Fuck.” He looked thoughtful. “You want dessert or something?”

“I dunno, you going to rant about chubby people who eat chocolate?” Darcy teased. He blinked. He’d dissed chocolate on date one. “Chocolate, math, people who like sweet tea, you’re hitting all the highlights tonight,” she sassed.

He groaned.

 

“How’d it go?” Jane asked, when she got home. Darcy made sure her sigh was put-upon and heavy. 

“He doesn’t like DC, red tape, sweet tea, Congress, adult men who play video games, bread, hot weather, humanities majors, French fries, or chain restaurants,” Darcy said, putting her leftovers in the fridge. Rumlow had insisted on buying her a slice of apology cake. In chocolate. 

“You love all of those,” Jane said mournfully.

“Yup,” Darcy said. “Except red tape.”

“I’m sorry, Darce.”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. She had to go into her bedroom and muffle her giggles in her pillow. It was probably wrong to mislead Jane, but it was worth it to be able to veg out without being guilt-tripped. She took off her date clothes and put on her pajamas. “Mission accomplished!” she whispered to herself, shimmying happily. She plopped down and stretched her feet. Darcy loved her blue, cluttered bedroom with its photos of her and Jane from all over the world. Her sheets never matched and her twinkle lights were juvenile, sure, but she was happily surrounded by her things: her collection of perfumes mini bottles and samples, her favorite red lipsticks, and her books. She just wished someone would let her adopt a nice senior dog to spoil. She’d wanted a smallish dog, like a poodle-mix. Apartment-friendly. Then everything would be perfect. In the meantime, she could eat her chocolate cake in bed and listen to podcasts. She wouldn’t be able to do that once she got a dog. Chocolate was toxic to dogs. She padded out to the kitchen and brewed herself some coffee to go with the cake. Jane looked up from where she was working on the couch. 

“You okay?” Jane said sympathetically.

“Yup,” Darcy said. “I’m eating this cake.”

“About Rumlow. Jack says he’s really trying--”

“To insult me?” Darcy said.

“To impress you,” Jane said insistently. “Jack swears that he’s just kinda sarcastic? So, I don’t think he means to hurt your feelings.” She looked chagrined. “I’m really sorry I begged you to go out with him.”

“It’s okay,” Darcy said, looking for a fork. “Do you want some of my cake?” Splitting cake with Jane would make her feel a smidge less guilty for enjoying that she could blame Rumlow for not wanting to be sociable.

“No, no, that’s okay,” Jane said. “I really am sorry.” 

 

*** 

When Jane went out with Jack the next night, she left without scolding Darcy for already being in her pajamas at seven. “Bye, Jack!” Darcy said cheerfully, waving around her bag of Pirate’s Booty. 

“Night, darl!” he called back. Darcy smiled to herself. There was absolutely nowhere she had to be and she had a cabinet of good snacks and a saved queue of TV shows to watch. She’d already warmed up her blanket in the dryer. It was going to be a cozy, relaxing night. She sighed happily. Ten minutes later, her doorbell rang. 

“Oh, man,” Darcy muttered, pausing her episode of _Dateline._ She got up and peered through the peephole. She was expecting an errant pizza guy, but the face looking back at her was familiar. “Rumlow?” she muttered. She opened the door carefully. “Um, hello?” she said.

“Hi,” he said. “Uh, Jack said you were home, so I thought maybe you wanted to do something?” he offered. _Damn it,_ Darcy thought, _this was exactly what she didn’t want. She’d wanted to listen to Keith Morrison interview the murdering husband!_

“I’m, uh, not dressed,” Darcy said, gesturing to her pajamas. They had little ducks on them.

“What if I make you dinner?” he said smoothly. 

“With what?” Darcy said.

“I’m very creative,” he said. 

It was very difficult not to laugh when Mr. “I’m Creative” had to settle for making her a grilled cheese and a salad. He was practically pouting her kitchen. He looked funny standing next to all her sarcastic fridge magnets. “Do you not have any beef in this house?” he said.

“Jane’s a vegetarian and I think cows are too cute to eat,” Darcy said.

“Cows?”

“It’s the eyes. They’re too sweet. Chicken is fine. Birds clearly want to murder us all,” Darcy said, deciding to go full weird. Maybe that would run him off? It wasn’t that he wasn’t attractive, it was just that dating was _work._ You had to fix your hair, you had to shave your legs, you had to make appropriate conversation, so your date would want another date. And another. It would be weeks before you could ditch the Spanx and actually confess that, yeah, you enjoyed Pop Tarts more than hiking. Darcy was thirty-two. She was tired of feeling vaguely like she didn’t meet some mysterious standard of ‘perfect girl next door’ or something? She wanted to be herself. Just herself. She wasn’t sure that her genuine self matched up with a opinionated, likely badass, hyper-competent, and wildly fit STRIKE commander, that was all. 

“Birds want to murder us?” Brock said, raising an eyebrow.

“Look a bird in the eye and tell me you don’t foresee you own death,” Darcy said. “I swear to God, a cockatoo once gave me the evil eye and ever since--” she made a whistling sound and gestured down like a downward spiral with her hands. “First, Thor. Then pasty elves from outer space. Crazy portals, HYDRA kidnappers--”

“HYDRA kidnappers?” he interrupted, frowning.

“This guy named Grant Ward was our security once,” she explained. “I tased the shit out of him.”

“Motherfucker,” he said, sitting down with the grilled cheeses. “I hated Ward.”

“Yup,” Darcy said. “I put him in SuperMax, baby.” She held up her hand for a high-five. He grinned.

“That’s my girl,” he said. He must’ve seen her surprised expression, because the high-five turned into a funny little handhold. He drew her hand down onto the tabletop. “You’re not terribly impressed with me, are you?” he said, expression serious. “I keep, uh, getting this weird feeling that you’re only tolerating me...” He rubbed her hand.

“Um,” Darcy said. “It’s not you, it’s me?” She raised her eyebrows. He burst out laughing.

“I’ve never heard that one before,” he said. “Ever. You wanna explain it?” 

“Jane thinks I’m depressed and that I should get out more”--she did air quotes around the last phrase, sliding her hand out of his--”you’re just the poor sucker who got talked into pity dating me?” Darcy said. He looked at her seriously. 

“Are you depressed?” he said.

“No,” Darcy said. “I’m just _tired._ That’s different. I spent most of my twenties doing stuff. I did the major, I did the minor. I worked on campus. I went to New Mexico with Jane. I went to London with Jane. I got a master’s degree in political science while working as Jane’s assistant, but I can’t find a full-time community college teaching job that would give me the kind of income I get being Jane’s assistant with only a master’s degree. I got engaged to Ian. I broke up with Ian. I tried to take some astrophysics classes, but the math gives me literal hives and I have to take benadryl and it makes me too sleepy for my homework, so I gave that up--”

“What about getting--” he began. She held up a hand.

“Don’t say _get a PhD in political science,_ because _everyone_ says that, mostly they know zippo about the job market. There are tons of underemployed PhDs taking the community college jobs. I don’t want to invest in a PhD if there are no real jobs with health insurance out there. I’m good now. I’ve paid off my existing loans and Jane isn’t going to fire me,” Darcy said. “If I was dating someone--or even flunking at dating someone, everyone’s happy.” She poked her salad with a fork. 

“Flunking dating?” he said, looking confused.

“Yes,” Darcy said, nodding assiduously. “You ever notice that? If you’re miserably on dating apps or seeing some terrible person, people accept that. They’re puzzled when you say you’re happily on a dating break. It’s the same with jobs. When I tell people I can’t find a poli sci job, they’re sympathetic. But if I say I’m happy working as Jane’s assistant, they act like I’m a letdown.”

“Oh,” he said. 

“It’s like people want you to be actively miserable,” she added. “Thank you for cutting these on the diagonal, by the way. I love sandwiches like that. I swear they taste better.”

“Uh-huh,” he nodded. “Eat your properly cut grilled cheese.” His voice was wry.

“Excelling or actively miserable. Or actively miserable while excelling, if you believe that _Lean In_ woman,” Darcy mused, between bites of grilled cheese. “What is up with that?”

“I don’t know, Jerry,” he said, grinning. 

“Huh?”

“Seinfeld?” he said. “Oh God, you’re too young for that, aren’t you? Fuck. I’m a hundred,” he muttered. “You think you’ve been through some shit?”

“Yeah,” she said. He leaned forward, playing with his salad.

“I’m fifty goddamn years old,” he said. “I was a SEAL, I’ve been with SHIELD for more than ten years. I was embedded in HYDRA, a building fell on me, I did a brief stint pretending to be a crazed merc for Fury before Helen Cho patched me up,” he said.  

“You’re fifty?” she said. “I thought you were, like, forty one.”

“That’s your takeaway?” he said. “But thank you.”

“Your grilled cheeses are excellent for someone who hates bread and cheese, too,” she said. He smirked. “That’s my other takeaway.”

“This cheese is decent,” he said. “For cheese.”

“Get thee behind me, Satan, that’s my favorite Trader Joe’s Gouda!” she muttered. “How do you cross yourself again?” 

“Are you stereotyping me as an Italian?” he joked. They chatted for the rest of the meal. He was fun, she realized. For someone who micro-aggressed wildly or whatever. He didn’t mean it, she knew. He was just naturally a little bit abrasive, like sandpaper. It wasn’t terrible; she could even imagine finding it oddly charming.

After dinner, he helped her with the dishes. She laughed at one of his slightly risqué jokes and he grinned back at her as they loaded the dishwasher. Then his expression grew serious. “I know you don’t do math,” he said.

“Nope,” she said quickly.

“But I’m gonna leave you a number,” he said casually. He got the marker she used on her fridge whiteboard. “And, uh, whenever you feel like spending time with a guy so ancient and creaky that he can’t possibly mind when you flunk dating math, you’ll have it.” He wrote down a phone number. Darcy tilted her head.

“That so?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said, capping the pen. He looked at her. “Whenever you feel like it. If you don't, that's no big deal, too.”

“Thanks,” she said.

“I’ll go now, let you get back to your--what is that?” he asked, peering at her living room TV.

“ _Dateline,”_ Darcy supplied, “I’m pretty sure that guy’s in jail, they always fuzz out the background when the husband did the murdering.”

“Oh, yeah?” he said, laughing. 

  
  
***

It was tough to hear the door shut behind him. But if she wanted to be happily single, it was her business, Brock thought. It would be easier if she was less cute, though. That cute mouth. They way she made little faces. He liked just looking at her. Even her damn pajamas were cute. He sighed. He was walking towards his car when his phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number. “Commander Rumlow,” he said.

“Oooh, that’s very formal,” Darcy said. He stopped dead.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said. “I didn’t recognize your number.”

“Numbers are tricky like that,” she said. There was a pause. “So, I decided to investigate this one you left on my fridge,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Just to try out?” she added.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. Or, he hoped he was being smooth.

“What about say, you coming back and hanging out with me some?” she said. He turned back and started walking towards her door. “Just to see how things go? No pressure, I mean if you aren’t interested--” she was saying. 

He rang her doorbell. 

“That’s you?” she said.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’s me.” He’d almost run.

“Well, I’m going to open the door,” she said. When it swung open, they were both still holding their respective phones. “Hi,” Darcy said.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m going to hang up now.”  

“I guess I should, too,” she said, smiling. He grinned back.

“So,” he said, once he’d settled next to her on the couch. “The husband did it?” 

“Probably--” she began. He scooped her legs into his lap and covered her with a blanket. Her mouth made a little o of surprise.

“What? Your feet look cold,” he said. She grinned. 

“Oh God,” she said.

“What?”

“I’m in trouble,” she said. He threw back his head and laughed.

“That’s the idea. Can we restart this?” he asked. His hand rubbed her calves over the blanket. She had nice legs, he thought.

“Yeah,” she said. “I totally think we can.” 

 


	62. Happy Birthday, Cameron Klein

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The Grumpy One is Soft for The Sunshine One” meme for Britt1975. With an extra dose of grumpy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Rumlow was sitting in the office across the hall from the techs open-plan room when the singing started. He looked over his shoulder, grimacing. Off-key warble, his brain registered. Soon, the singers rolled into view: it was Captain America, Barton, Romanoff, and Sharon Carter. Darcy Lewis was the one pushing the cart holding the brightly-frosted birthday cake. She was blowing one of those little birthday things between her lips. Noisemakers? The sound was irritating. He watched. The paper unfurled between her full, brightly-painted lips. He looked away, scoffing. The caravan of well-wishers went into the tech room, smiling and laughing. At the next desk, Jack Rollins bounced to his feet. “Cake, bonzer,” he said brightly. He got to the door and turned back, “you coming, mate?” he asked Rumlow.

“No,” Rumlow said. He turned back to his paperwork, sighing heavily. “I don’t eat sugar, you all fucking know that,” he said bitterly.

“All right, mate,” Jack said, looking a bit perplexed and sad. His long legs took him across the hall quickly, leaving his boss behind. Rumlow tried to stare at his files and assorted forms. He was busy. Too busy for that kind of thing. Now that he was done--pretending to be a loyal HYDRA agent with Rollins and stealing back lost SHIELD tech as Crossbones--he was helping rebuild the newest version of SHIELD. Helen Cho had patched him up with her Cradle, so he had no excuse to be grumpy.

 

But he was sour, he realized, feeling the pull of the other room. And it was all _her_ fault. Darcy Lewis. Jane Foster’s annoyingly cheerful and daffy assistant. Hill had recruited Foster to replace the scientists they’d lost to the FBI, Homeland, and the CIA while SHIELD fought Congress for funding. Foster had brought Darcy along, claiming that her assistant was responsible for her ability to concentrate. Which was ironic, Rumlow thought, because Darcy Lewis was distracting, like an itch he couldn’t reach. From the first day they’d met, she’d grated on his nerves. It was the way she called attention to herself. She drank coffee like a fiend, was constantly crunching on snacks during staff meetings, laughed all the time, dressed bizarrely, and talked endlessly about her British boyfriend. He was some nerdy astrophysicist working in Norway still. Rumlow glanced over. Today, she was wearing a blue dress printed with little cherries, a red cardigan, and patterned knee socks with her slip on shoes. Who the fuck wore this stuff, he wondered? Shouldn’t HR have a talk with her? But probably not. Because everyone else seemed to find her charming. It made him feel faintly irritated whenever he saw her or interacted with her. The way he had to pull his eyes away from staring at her face in some bizarre knit hat or her body in some cleavage-flaunting top. He considered it an accomplishment that he’d manage to forge a polite, professional relationship with her, despite all that. He’d told Jack--several times--that he could be friendly with anybody, even her. He could hear Cap talking to her now. 

“What kind of cake this that, doll?” he was saying. She baked. People liked her because she fed them sugar, Rumlow thought glumly, standing up. He’d been sitting too long. She was always cruising around the building, distributing double-chocolate oreo muffins or some fucking thing. That was probably her insurance against HR’s dress code violations. Cookies or brownies or some shit. He’d come to the doorway of the tech room when he heard her answer brightly. 

“It’s a Pop Tart cake, Steve. I put strawberry filling in the layers.” 

Brock peered over towards the table where Cameron was sitting down. Sharon was lighting his cake candles. The top of the cake did have a goddamn Pop-Tart pattern on it. She’d frosted the sides in a pale beige-y color and done the top in a pink color. With sprinkles. It looked exactly like a kid’s food.

“You’re thirty-three!” Sharon yelled at Cam. “A palindrome!” He had a thing for numbers.

“I am awesome,” Cam said happily. He beamed around the room.

“Old timer,” Steve chimed in. People laughed at that. Even Darcy. They sung for Cam, he blew out the candles, and cake was distributed. Across the room, Jack gave him a look. Brock ignored it and remained leaning against the wall. Jack was clearly disappointed because he had a thing for Jane Foster. Foster must be mid-science breakthrough to skip cake. That much was obvious.

Eventually, Brock sighed. Darcy turned and caught sight of him then. “Hey, you,” she said cheerfully. “Get over here!” She waved at him. When he resisted, she leaned over--tilting dangerously--and grabbed his bicep. “C’mon, Brock,” she said. She towed him in closer. Close enough so he could smell the sweet perfume she wore. “You want a piece of cake?” she asked.

“You know I don’t eat that stuff,” he said. “At all.” He looked down. Her socks had an animal on them.

“Those are otters,” she said, seeing his glance.

“Otters?” he scoffed.

“Ian got them, because he’s otterly devoted to me,” she joked. He grimaced. Ian was her boyfriend. “Poor baby,” she said, patting his arm and then doodling over one of his tattoos with her index finger. “You’re an abstainer, aren’t you?”

“What?” he said.

“It’s a Gretchen Rubin happiness book thing”--he tried not to roll his eyes at her happiness book fixation, that was typical Darcy--”some of us, like me, are moderators, who have to have a little bit of something or we go crazy,” she said.

“A little, huh?” he said dryly. She was lush. She poked him with her elbow.

“Stop staring at the girls,” she said. “You, on the other hand, are an abstainer. You just cross things off your list and never have them again and that’s easier for you. You can’t have cake or you’ll go on a binge, probably.”

“I don’t binge,” he said. “I have perfect control. I don’t need to abstain, I choose to abstain.”

“Did you want to test that theory?” she said.

“Huh?”

“One bite of cake?” she offered. “Just one. You’ll be fine, right?” He was caught. She’d caught him. Fuck.

“Fine,” he said.

“I’ll get you that piece,” she said, squeezing his arm and elbowing her way into the crowd. He sighed. Steve moved over to him.

“When you going to ask her on a date?” he said.

“What--I’m not,” Rumlow said. “We’re work friends. She’s a kid. Half my age, practically. And she’s, you know, her.”

“Cute?” Steve offered. “Kind?”

“She wears those socks,” he said grimly. He could see the back of her thighs as she cut a piece of cake. She was pale. And soft. 

“Uh-huh,” Steve said. “You realize your heart rate changes whenever she’s in the room, right?”

“Bullshit,” Brock said, hoping that it wasn’t true. “Besides, she’s seeing that guy. Whatshisface. She loves him. Pasty British fucker.”

“Language,” Steve said dryly. 

“Excuse me, pale British fucker?” Brock said. His voice was wry. Steve laughed and melted away as Darcy arrived with a piece of cake on a Captain America plate. “I can’t eat all that,” he complained.

“Oh, you’re not,” she said. “This is 99% mine, baby. You get one forkful. A teensy, eensy bite. C’mon, Brock,” she suggested. Her voice was warm. He ate the cake she offered him on the fork.

“It’s good cake,” he admitted. She laughed. 

“Mr. No Sugar likes my baking!” she said. “I feel a deep and abiding sense of accomplishment. Please write that down, I’m going to frame it and hang it in the lab,” she said. 

“Sure,” he said. “Get me a birthday napkin, I’ll do it.”

 

 

He was walking around the building a week later when someone walked into him. “Whoa,” Brock said, catching the person by the shoulders. “Darcy?” he said, staring. She’d cut her hair into a bob. Dark bangs fell above her glasses and the sides framed her face.

“Oh God, don’t look at me like that,” she said, expression upset. He’d never seen her be upset before.

“What’s wrong?” he said. She had mascara smudged around her eyes, behind her glasses.

“I can’t talk about it, please let go of me,” she said. He let his hands drop gently. She rubbed her face. Her eyes were red, cheeks blotchy.

“You, uh, want a tissue or something?” he offered, feeling awkward. He hadn’t recognized her at first, between her bobbed hair and the clothes she was wearing. Instead of her brightly colored scarves and goofy print socks, she was wearing a ratty Culver sweatshirt and leggings. 

“No,” she said. “I-I-can’t talk! I just want to go the ladies room and cry, okay?” She bolted into the bathroom, still crying, and he was left standing in the hallway. He rubbed his hair. What the fuck was going on? 

He found out at lunch: the pasty British guy had dumped her, according to Sharon Carter. “By text a few days ago,” Sharon added. “He met some girl at the observatory.” Her voice was scornful.

“Oh,” Brock said. “She okay?”

“They’ve been together since 2013, of course she’s not okay, you idiot. They were practically married,” Sharon said. Cameron Klein joined them.

“What are we talking about?” he asked.

“Darcy,” Sharon said.

“Oh, yeah,” Cam said. “Her breakup with Ian.” He shook his head. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah,” Brock said, “rough.” 

“Make sure to compliment her hair. She got the breakup haircut and now she’s really sad about that, too,” Sharon told Cameron. 

“I thought it looked nice,” Brock said.  

“Yeah, that’s real convincing,” Sharon said, rolling her eyes. She departed, Cam following her, to the lunch line. Brock turned on his heel and headed for Foster’s lab.

 

She was sitting at her desk, eating pretzels out of a bag. She looked sad. “Hey,” he said, knocking. 

“Hi,” Darcy said. 

“Where’s Jane?” Foster hardly ever left her lab.

“She went with Jack to pick up some equipment from the security people,” she said. “He likes murder-facing them and he has more upper body strength than me.” Brock nodded.

“Can I take you to lunch?” he offered.

 “I, uh, I’m not feeling terribly social,” she said. 

“I’m sorry about Ian,” he said. This was a lie; Ian sounded like a dbag. “But your hair is cute.”

“My dumb breakup haircut? I look about twelve,” she complained, patting her bangs and frowning. 

“Let me buy you a milkshake,” he said, rubbing her shoulders. Her hair was shorter in the back. He could see her neck now. The edge of her hairline was gently wispy where the hairdresser had cut it at the nape. Soft wisps of shiny dark hair, he thought. He rubbed her neck with his thumb.

“See? That’s something you say to a kid,” she said, trying to stand up.

“I don’t think you’re a child,” he said, gently helping her to her feet.

“Pfffht, you’re even using a nice voice with me, you never do that voice. This haircut is cursed,” she muttered. He chuckled and rubbed the small of her back.

“Wait ‘til you see where we’re going,” he said, leading her out of the lab. She looked startled when she saw the restaurant. 

“You go to places like this?” she said, eyes on a waitress who was carrying elaborate milkshakes and baskets of fries. He nodded. It was all neon and sixties music. You could play songs on a tabletop jukebox.

“I bring my sister’s kids here when they visit,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” she said wryly. “This is not helping me feel more grown up and sophisticated.”

“You gotta try one of their milkshakes,” he told her. “It’s a you thing, Lewis.”

“Where is my grumpy Rumlow?” she said. “I don’t know you. Why are you smiling like that?” He felt his grin go wider. 

“I’m nice,” he said. “Sometimes. Try the, uh, Capt’n Crunch milkshake. I think you’d like it.”

She did. He had to suppress a grin of pleasure at her obvious delight and the way she played with her straw and spoon. She was alternating between French fries and milkshake as he ate a bunless burger when something occurred to him. “Why do you want to?” he wondered.

“Hmmm?” She looked up.

“Be more sophisticated?” he said. She sighed and looked deflated.

“Ian said I wasn’t emotionally mature enough to settle down with,” she told him glumly. She flicked the straw a little.

“Bullshit,” he said, tossing down his napkin. “You’re fine.”

“C’mon, don’t lie to me now, you’re always making fun of my fun socks or my glitter pen collection,” she said. “I thought cutting my hair might make me feel more my age or something?” She shook her head. Her straightened hair swished against her neck. He reached across and gently pushed her glasses up. They had slid down her nose a fraction.

“Nothing’s wrong with you,” he said. He thought she’d understand that he meant it. Really meant it. He might tease her or find her unprofessional, but nothing was wrong with her. They were friends. Sort of. 

 

Except every time he saw her around the office now, she looked down. It took him a few times to realize that she seemed to be dressing differently, too. Dull, businesslike colors. Even her red lipstick had been replaced by some brownish looking stuff, he thought, feeling that strange irritation again. He caught up with her in the break room. “Hey,” he said, going to fill up his coffee cup. Darcy turned around.

“Hi,” she said. She was holding a plastic tray. 

“What is that?” he said, looking over.

“Diet food, I’m trying to cut back,” she said, turning back to the microwave. He grimaced.

“Honey,” he said. “You seem like--” He paused, uncertain.

“My GP says my cholesterol’s one-forty and I’m too sedentary, okay?” she said, voice upset. He came to stand behind her and kneaded her shoulders. She was wearing a plain gray suit today. From the back, she could be anybody. Generic. He felt that spike of irritation again.

“Jack mentioned you been working out in the gym,” he said.

“I’m just trying to be responsible or whatever,” she said. “Be a healthy adult.”

“Okay,” he said gently. He gave her a little squeeze. “I’ll be back.”

“Where are you going?” she said. “Mission?”

“I’m going to shoot your ex. Get my bail money ready.”

“Brock,” she said, with a touch of her old energy. “I know you’re trying to be a friend, but you can’t threaten to kill Ian like that.” He looked at her. 

“Can’t I?” he said. “I think I can.” She went on, in a mild, resigned tone. 

“He just fell in love with someone else, that’s all.”

“Stop being so fucking reasonable,” he groused. “Throw that away.”

“I have to eat them. They’re expensive!” she said. He pried the tray from her hand and threw it in the trash. “What is wrong with you?” she said.

“I’m getting you food you like and then we’re going to do something,” he said. “Don’t make me carry you. I know how to restrain people who resist arrest.”

“All right, fine,” she said. “But Jane will be mad if I just disappear.”

“She can take it up with me,” he said, grabbing his coffee in one hand and taking her elbow in the other. 

 

He took her to a food truck outside the office. He thought she would like that. “Okay,” she said, once they were sitting on a bench and she was unwrapping her sandwich. “This is better.” 

“I told you,” he said. She looked at him.

“Do you just like feeding people because you don’t eat?” she said. He scoffed. 

“No,” he said. “I had lunch already.”  
“Is it a sex thing?” she asked wryly. He choked on his coffee.

“Where do you get these ideas?” he muttered. He glanced at her. “You’re about to lose some tomato.” Her sandwich was a little messy.

“S’okay, I spread out the sandwich wrapper so I could catch my lap tomatoes,” she said. “Lap-matoes.” She laughed. 

“That sounds more like you,” he said. He sipped his coffee and leaned back against the bench. They sat in silence while she ate.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked finally.

“That is a completely awful fucking suit,” he said casually. 

“It goes with my hair,” she said glumly. 

“The hair is fine,” he said. He was being honest: he liked the way it drew his eyes up to her face. She had a good face. “That looks nice. Goes fine with your old stuff. But this?” He touched her jacket sleeve. He pulled a face.

“It’s Ann Taylor!” she said.

“Since when can you find Ann Taylor?” he asked dryly.

“I got it at Goodwill,” she said. “It’s used.” He let out a barking laugh.

“What’d you do, ask the Goodwill people to point you in the direction of the Grandma suits?” he said.

“You are a buttmunch, Brock Rumlow.”

“I know,” he said.

“Where are we going?” she asked when she was done eating. He took her trash and threw it away.

“My side of the complex,” he said, smirking. “C’mon.” They went back inside. He guided her through a part of the STRIKE facilities that she’d probably never seen. They went down a hallway and he stopped to tap in his key code. 

“What is this?” Darcy asked.

“My second favorite place,” he said, pushing the door open. The air inside was cool. There were no windows. He loved this part of the building. It was all air-conditioning, noise muffling padding, and the happy click of magazines. 

“What’s your first favorite?”

 “Come here,” he said. He opened his locker. “The gym’s my favorite, but that’s work. This is pure fun.” He put a pair of orange headphones for noise canceling over her ears. Then he got the gun out. “This is a good starter weapon,” he said, pulling one of the headphones slightly aside to talk to her.

“You want me to shoot a gun?” she said, wide eyed. 

“When you see the paper target, I want you to think of Ian,” he said, grinning. 

“Oh my God,” she muttered. He led her into the range itself. To his surprise, she was a pretty good shot. Paper Ian died several times in a half-hour. He told her that she was good as they left. “I did hit Thor with a taser,” she told him, sounding pleasantly normal to him. 

“I think I knew that,” he said wryly. He walked her back to Foster’s lab. “You going to forget this business?” he asked, as they went down a hallway.

“Huh?” she said.

“Dieting and neglecting your sock collection. What would that Asian chick say about you neglecting ‘em?”

“What?” Darcy said. He gestured, thinking.

“That one that has the Netflix show about the joy thing?” he offered. She’d talked about that. “Throwing away everything that doesn’t make you happy?”

“Oh! Marie Kondo,” she said, smiling. “She would want me take care of my socks. I miss my socks.”

“Uh huh,” he said. “Keep the socks, get rid of the Ian.”

“You sounded so zen just then,” she said. She paused by the R&D hallway. “Thanks, Brock. You’re a really good friend,” she said. Darcy stood on her tiptoes to put her arms around him. 

“Yeah,” he said, squeezing her back. “I’m a really good friend, but I want my Darcy back.”

“What’s that mean?” she said.

“I miss you being the most obnoxiously colorful person in every room and trying to force-feed me baked goods,” he said. “And all that damn Roy Orbison and Chris Isaak you play in the lab on Fridays.” She snorted. 

“You just don’t understand Roy Orbison,” she told him. She hadn’t let him go yet. That was funny, he thought.

“You even smell different,” he said, realizing what was bothering him. Where was her normal smell?

“I thought my Vanilla Cake Batter perfume might be unprofessional,” she said.

“Nah,” he said, lying through his teeth. “Nobody notices that kind of thing.” 

 

“What’s up with you?” his sister asked Brock one Saturday. She’d veered away from his mother to talk to him. His mother and sister had flown down to DC, ostensibly to see him and visit museums, but really to go shopping. He was trailing them through a mall now. He blamed himself; he’d negotiated a finder’s fee for his Crossbones work and then started volunteering to pay for these trips once he’d been pardoned by the president. He’d thought he might die younger back then from the burn complications. Amateur mistake. Now that Cho had fixed him up, he was permanently on the hook for his mother Angela’s Nordstrom fixation. 

“I’m at a mall, Fallon,” he said. Brock hated malls. Fake-chasing Cap and Romanoff through one without alerting the real HYDRA loyalists had probably given him some sort of stress response to muzak and escalators. A mall on Saturday? Fucking nightmare. 

“But you haven’t complained for twenty minutes, which means something’s on your mind,” she said. “You meet somebody?”

“No,” he said, making a face. “Haven’t met anybody. I’m swamped with work.”

“Yes, because you’re sooooooo integral to the management of a federal agency,” his sister said. 

“Are you fighting?” his mother called, peering around a rack.

“No, he’s just lying,” Fallon said. “As usual.”

“As usual?” he said.

“There was one point in your life where you lied every time your lips moved,” Fallon joked. “Where is the Kate Spade in this place?”

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “That woman’s prices are murder.” Fallon rolled her eyes.

“Are you being cheap? It’s your father’s genes,” his mother said, responding to the siren call of designer brands. His mother had been a model and sometime commercial actress in her teens--posing alongside Martha Stewart,of all people. He swore she’d kept her figure purely because she adored clothes. And husbands. She was on her fifth.

“Ma, when have I ever been cheap with you in my entire fucking life?” he groused.

“You’ve never been financially cheap, you’re just an emotional cheapskate. He’s met someone, by the way,” Fal said.

“Bullshit,” he muttered.

“You did?” his mother said, sounding pleased. “What’s she like? Tell me about her?” She flicked her hair in the nearest mirror.

“No, Ma,” he said. “I haven’t met anybody.” He followed them around the store. As usual, his mother was picking out a rack of dresses in bright colors; his sister had rebelled by only wearing black. “You all right?” he asked Fallon. She seemed to be shopping diffidently. She’s taken down one dark blouse and put it back twice. She shrugged. 

“Paul’s having some problems at work,” she said. Paul was her husband.

“Money problems?” he said.

“No,” she said. “Just problems. He’s been grumpy lately, I hope he’s doing okay with the kids.” He nodded.

“Call a babysitter to give him a break if you’re worried,” Brock said. “I’ll pay for it.”

“You always think you can throw money at a problem,” she teased, but he noticed she called immediately. His ideas were good. She was on the phone when his attention was arrested by a display of socks. The kind of socks Darcy liked. A whole rack of socks printed with puppies, unicorns, and sarcastic little saying. “Those are women’s socks,” his sister said, when he came back with some in his hand. “They’re too big for the princess.” The princess was his niece. 

“No kidding,” he said. 

“You did meet somebody,” she hissed, eyes alight.

“They’re for a work friend,” he said. “She’s more like an acquaintance.”

“You buy gifts for all your female acquaintances now?” Fallon said. His mother was spritzing on something at the Chanel counter and didn’t hear them.

“Look,” he said. “She’s not my type at all. But she’s been having a bad time and she’s important to the job, so I’m getting her some damn socks.”

“Important to the job?”

“She’s Thor’s ex-girlfriend’s assistant,” he said in a low voice. “Fury thinks keeping Foster working for us is important.”

“Ooooh, that Jane chick?” Fallon said. He nodded. “The pretty one? 

“I guess, yeah,” Brock said. “Jack thinks so.”

“Jack likes her?” Fallon said.

“He’s like an idiot whenever they’re in the same room,” Brock said, snickering. “Big fucking grin, looks like a demented koala.”

“No way!”

“Oh, yeah,” he said.

“What kind of bad time has the assistant been having?” she asked, as they pushed a shopping cart towards his mother, who had drifted over to shoes.

“We convinced ‘em to move her lab here from Norway, but the assistant’s boyfriend had a job there. So, he, uh, dumped her by text recently and she’s taking it rough,” he said. “They been together since the elf thing in London.”

“But she’s not your type?”

“Nope,” he said. “It’s messing with our index for morale, though, I can tell.”

“Huh?” Fallon said.

“She likes to bake, but the asshole boyfriend told her to grow up, so she quit baking and now we’re not getting the same survey numbers for workplace happiness,” he said. “We went to a weekly metric after the uprising. Took me a fucking time to figure out why scores were diminishing, but it’s cause she’s not making brownies twice a week and randomly giving them to different floors. I’ve been ordering in stuff, but it’s not the same,” he explained.

“Are you telling me you’re giving this woman socks so she’ll bake again?” Fallon said. She looked in the shopping cart. “You picked socks with baking themes! You’re so fucking sneaky.”

Brock shrugged.

“Whatever works,” he said. “Just need her back to normal.” He took them to Filomena’s for dinner.

“I love this place,” his mother said, gazing at the decorations. 

“I know Ma,” he said.

“You don’t understand,” she said. “It stays the same. Everything in New York changes. You know Anthony’s closed?” his mother told him. He winced.

“Don’t remind me,” he said. “I loved that place. Best veal--”

“It’s disgusting how much you love veal--” Fallon was saying when she half stood. “Isn’t that someone we know--holy shit, it’s Captain America!” she said, waving at someone through the window. 

“Oh, can we invite Steve for dinner?” his mother asked, a gleam in her eye. They’d met once. “He’s such a sweet man!”

“You’re not allowed to marry him,” Brock told his mother, pointing. He waved to Steve, gesturing for him to come inside. Steve smiled brightly.

“Why can’t she? He’s old enough,” Fallon said. 

“Maybe he’s a little old for me,” Angela joked. “I might want a young sixth husband. Is Jack seeing anybody?”

“You keep trying to give me a heart attack,” Brock muttered, as Steve cut through the restaurant, weaving between tables. “But it’s not going to work.”

“Hi, folks,” Steve said brightly. “Can I crash your family dinner?”

“Of course,” both women said in unison, beaming. 

Brock was in the bathroom when Fallon asked him something about the surveys and workplace morale. “Weekly surveys?” Steve said, raising an eyebrow. 

“I knew it! He lied again,” she said. “I can always tell. He bought knee socks for somebody and tried to say she’s important to workplace morale because she bakes.”

“Socks, huh?” Steve said, grinning. 

“With puppies on them? Some girl who was recently dumped?” Fallon added. Her mother was watching Steve’s face avidly. 

“That’d be Darcy Lewis,” Steve said. His smile was beaming. “Did you want to see her social media?” He tapped his phone.

“Ooooh,” Fallon said. “She’s pretty, Ma.”

“But she doesn’t seem like anybody else he’s dated,” his mother said, studying a picture of Darcy. “And she is young.”

They had to hide the phone when Brock came back to the table.

 

Brock thought the socks might have worked, because Darcy threw a party right after he gave them to her. She hadn’t done that in a while. They were usually dessert parties. He was always invited, even if he didn’t eat the stuff and preferred to hang out on her apartment balcony, listen to her ipod speakers, and sit quietly while everyone else crammed into the living room and talked. It was the shrill laughter and clatter of forks that really got on his nerves. “I think that went okay,” she said, coming to get him after the last person had left. Her hand stroked the top of his hair. “You awake?” she asked. 

“I dozed off a little,” he said, stirring and opening his eyes. He looked around. “Where are Jane and Jack?”  

“I think I lost them,” she said, laughing. “I just hope I didn’t leave them at the grocery store.” 

“Uh-huh,” he said. He thought that Jane and Jack had actually snuck off together. Good for Jack. “You want some help with the dishes?” 

“Sure,” she said. He always helped her with clean up. “I think the brownies went over,” she said. 

“Good,” he said. He noticed she was wearing the socks he’d given her. He was looking at her feet when she sighed.

“What?” he said.

“Never cut your hair over an ex,” she said. “My reflection in the toaster makes me all sad.”

“That’s silly,” he said. 

“It does!” she said. “I’m going to make coffee.”

“Put some liquor in that coffee, you need cheering up,” he called. He plied her with amaretto laced coffees and sat her on the couch. She was sipping from her coffee mug when he shook his head. 

“What?” Darcy said.

“You need to get over that guy,” he said. 

“We’ve been together six years, can’t I grieve?” she said, grinning.

“Don’t waste grief on somebody who didn’t treat you right,” he said. “Save that for somebody who matters.”

“Thank you,” she snorted. “But that still doesn’t help me get over it. I have feelings! I’m a feelings person.”

“I know,” he said. “He’s got you all bent out of shape.” 

“What do I dooooo?” she wondered.

“Get over him by getting under the next guy,” he offered. “Always worked for me.”

“You and I are very different people.”

“I know.”

“Duh,” she said, elbowing him. “I know that you know that I know…” She started to laugh. 

“How much amaretto did I put in that?” he wondered, grinning at her. She smiled back. He really looked. Her eyes were blue and she’d lined them tonight so that they’d stand out, he thought. A good sign. She wore more makeup when she felt happy. She’d once joked with him that makeup was like art for her face. It was one of her things. He was thinking about that when she leaned over and kissed him. Those lips were soft and tentative. He was going to pull back. They were just work friends, he’d told people. But she sucked on his mouth and he sort of lost his motivation. Instead, he kissed her back. Amaretto laced kisses. They fumbled at first, but he slid her closer to him. He could kiss her like this forever, he realized, feeling his body relax as she leaned into him. That tense, irritated feeling leeched out of his shoulders when she touched him. His hands roamed under her shirt, squeezing the fabric of her bra. He slid the clasp at the back apart, so he could push the bra away a fraction. He felt her moan against his mouth when he touched her nipples. They’d been kissing for a few minutes when she crawled into his lap and her thighs settled on top of his legs. He groaned. Those legs were as soft as he’d imagined. He stroked her thighs, reaching up under her skirt. He could tell she wanted this as much as he did. He smirked against her mouth and toyed with her underwear. 

“Oh God,” she said, arching her back

“Mmm-hmmm, baby,” he said. “Lemme--” he began, pulling away for a sec. He needed to get his pants down. “You got condoms?” he said heatedly. There were some in his wallet. He needed to get out of his goddamn clothes, he thought, frowning.  He was half out of his pants and reaching for her underwear again when she stopped him. A second earlier, she’d been fine, but she went tense suddenly. 

“Wait, Brock,” she said, pushing his hands back.

“Hmmm?” he said, licking his lips and grinning at her. Did she want him to go down on her first? He could do that.

“No,” she said. “I can’t--I can’t,” she repeated. She fumbled off his lap. “You only want to have sex with me because you’re drunk. You’ve never like this when other people are around.”

“I’m not drunk,” he insisted, momentarily stunned. What was she talking about? He’d had one beer and then been drinking coffee all night. He was on call. Sober as a judge and fucking hard, he wanted to say. He reached for her. “Baby--” he said.

“No,” she said. “You’re drunk.”

“I don’t--what the fuck are you saying?” he said. She flinched at his tone and moved out of the range of his arms. 

“I think you should go, this was a mistake,” she said, not looking at him. 

“Darcy,” he started to say.

“You need to leave,” she repeated. “I’m not having sex with you.” Her voice was blunt. 

“Fine,” he said, rising. He was confused---and angry. Why was she rejecting him? Darcy liked him, didn’t she? She was always touching him, reaching for him, paying him attention. He’d been certain the boyfriend was her primary obstacle, if she ever thought of falling into bed with him. That she was loyal to Boothby and wouldn’t cheat. Now he felt a kind of breathless pressure in his chest as he looked at her, curled up into herself on the couch. She wasn’t making eye contact. He tried to calm down. He’d punctured a lung once on a mission that had gone badly. This felt like that. Like he couldn’t get his breath and he was panicking. “I can’t believe you’re turning me down like this,” he said. “Why are you turning me down?”

 “I’m not discussing this when you’re angry,” she said. She still wouldn’t look at him. 

“Fine,” he repeated, when she wouldn’t explain herself. “Have fun with these nerdy fuckers who take you for granted!” he yelled, marching to the door. He slammed it and started  towards his car with heavy footsteps. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck Fuck. Fuck.” He didn’t know why he’d lashed out so badly--he’d been shot down plenty of times when he was Alpha’s version of “Scarface” without it denting his self-esteem--but he was upset now. She’d initiated, he thought, baffled. He’d been willing to give her time to recover from the Boothby thing. And she’d been the one to make the first move? They’d been having a good time and he’d been half out of his fucking pants and she’d just--she’d just changed her mind? Was it something he’d done?  He left the apartment complex, but had to pull over a few blocks away. He was shaking. He felt vaguely sick. Sitting in his car, he sent her a text: _I’m sorry that I yelled._ He thought she’d text him back. She didn’t. 

 

For the next few days, he volleyed between sadness and irritation. He didn’t text her again or talk to her. Oh no, he thought, let her approach me first. It was slightly selfish, but he wanted her to make the first attempt. The trouble was, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He thought about her in the gym, no matter how much he hit a bag. He thought about her on missions, even if it was dangerous to be distracted. He thought about her at home, no matter how horny it made him. He was all fucked up. He would have tried to avoid her more, but he’d ordered her a cupcake book she wanted as a surprise. Her birthday was next month. He looked at it in his apartment and decided to deliver it early. Then he could skip her birthday party. He could always leave it on her doorstep, right? 

He drove over there. Walked to her door, shifting his weight from side-to-side. Should he knock, he wondered? Then he felt how chickenshit he was being and rapped aggressively. There was a long moment of silence. No answer. “Shit,” he muttered out loud. He left the gift on her mat. Fuck it, he thought. The bow peeked out mockingly from the shipping box. He’d paid extra for gift wrap.  

He was stomping off, muttering fuck repeatedly, when something startled him. “Hey!” Darcy yelled. “Asshole!” He turned.

“What?” he said. She was standing in her doorway in a bathrobe. She looked, well, not good.

“Where are you going?” she said. He stepped back over carefully.

“What’s wrong with you?” he said bluntly. “You sick or something?” Her eyes were all bloodshot behind her glasses and her nose looked swollen.

“That’s nice,” she snapped. She looked at the box. ”Did you leave that?”

“It’s--it’s your birthday present,” he said.

“My birthday’s not for weeks.”

“I ordered it early,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“You were just going leave it?” she said. Her voice sounded sad.

“I figured you didn’t want to see me--” he said and then she burst into tears. He panicked. “Hey, hey,” he said, stepping around the box. She was sobbing.

“Don’t step on my present!” she wailed.

“I’m not,” he grumbled, awkwardly trying to hug her. She was still. He was a terrible hugger. “I’m fucking shit at this,” he said. That was when she sank against him and buried her face in his shoulder.

“Why are you so mean to me?” she said, between sniffles. 

“I-I don’t fucking know,” he said. His fingers tightened around the back of the terrycloth robe. He swallowed. “I’m, uh, crazy about you?” His voice wavered.

“You asshole,” she said. “You could have said something!” 

“Yeah, I know,” he said. He sighed. “You need cold medicine or something?”

“No, dumbass, I’ve been sitting around crying about you,” she said, hands curling into fists on his shoulders. 

“That right?” he said, feeling himself start to grin.

“It’s not funny.”

“You wanna go inside, open your present early?” he offered.

“Maybe,” she said, sniffling. He picked her up and she squealed. “My present!”

“Your birthday’s not for weeks,” Brock said, moving her inside. He plopped her on the couch and went back to retrieve it. He shut the door and looked at her on the couch. She was staring at him. “What?” he said.

“You really mean it?” Darcy said. “You really like me?”

“You didn’t really think I came to your parties because I liked loading the goddamned dishwasher, did you? I just wanted to be alone with you.”

“Oh,” she said. Then she smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pop Tart cakes exist: https://studiodiy.com/2016/08/24/diy-giant-pop-tart-cake/
> 
> My inspo for every Darcy bobbed haircut is this image:
> 
>  


	63. "Do You Ever Want Kids?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Britt1975, inspired by this post: https://yespumpkindoodlesthings.tumblr.com/post/186869537518/there-are-a-lot-of-questions-i-wouldnt-expect-a

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Non-fat latte,” Rumlow said, passing his card over the counter. The woman at the register looked up. SHIELD had its own in-house coffee place.

“Do you ever want kids?” she asked. 

“Excuse me?” Rumlow said, chin jerking up. She grinned. Her name tag said “Darcy.”

“How many kids do you want, Agent?” she said. She had dark hair and glasses. 

“I--uh, I haven’t thought about it,” he stammered. 

“Darce,” Cap said behind him, “are you sexually harassing your customers today?”

“It’s a new thing we’re doing, Stevie,” she said brightly. “Black?” Steve nodded. 

“Sexual harassment?” Rumlow choked out. She laughed and went on. 

“We have a question of the day. It’s supposed to be a bonding exercise. I stole it from that place that rhymes with Charbucks,” she explained. “Fury wants everybody to get along, right?” SHIELD was rebuilding after the aborted HYDRA Uprising. Rumlow had barely survived being a triple agent and then a stint as a fake merc called Crossbones. He had Helen Cho’s Cradle to thank for his healed burns.

“You’re asking people how many kids they want? Everybody?” Rumlow said.

“Well, we started out the day asking everyone how they were afraid to die, but the answers got really specific and now I know too much about death by Chitauri,” she said. 

“Oh,” Rumlow said. She smiled brightly.

“Seeing you might have given me ideas for alternative questions,” she said, winking.

 

When Rumlow got his coffee back, there was a phone number scrawled on the cup. “How do you know that woman?” he asked Steve.

“She’s Jane Foster’s assistant, but she fills in at the coffee shop whenever Foster closes her lab to go to Asgard with Thor,” Steve explained. “Nice girl. You should call her.”

Rumlow looked back over his shoulder. She was laughing and talking with someone in line. He heard her voice again. “What are some of your hopes and dreams?” she was asking another agent.

“She’s not asking anybody else if they want kids,” Rumlow said.

“She didn’t ask me,” Steve said. “My feelings might be a little hurt.” He smiled slyly. “Do I need to call Romanoff?”

“I’ll call,” Rumlow said. “I’ll call.”

“Good,” Steve said.


	64. Pay It Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this tumblr post! I just thought it was fun: https://positive-memes.tumblr.com/post/186871447485/dont-know-if-this-has-been-posted-here-already

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

The Arlington coffee shop was pretty quiet at 8:47pm on a Thursday. Sara, the shift manager, had someone mopping the floor of the dining room when cars came through their drive-thru. “Drunk people getting coffee?” Tracy said, curiously. Someone was yelling. 

“How may we help you at Coffee Press?” Sara asked over headphones.

“I got the bowling trophy!” a male voice called out.

“Shut up,” a different male voice said. “Yeah, we want two non-fat caramel lattes and one plain nonfat latte--”

“I want mine non-fat, Rumlow! Gotta keep the wife happy--”

“They’re all non-fat, Clint,” a female voice said.

“Two non-fat caramel lattes and one non-fat latte,” Sara repeated, trying not to laugh. “Can I interest you in a brownie?”

“Hell yeah, I want a brownie,” the drunk-sounding passenger said. Clint, Sara thought. She heard someone laugh.

“One brownie? One brownie,” the male orderer said coolly. “Not non-fat.”

“She’ll still love me anyway,” the Clint guy said. Behind Sara, Tracy had to press her hand against her mouth to muffle her laughter.

 

Sara was extremely curious about this car. She peered through her window as they pulled up. An SUV. The dark-haired guy behind the wheel was frowning as Sara took the order of the next car. “Clint, stop kicking the back of my goddamned seat,” he muttered. The redheaded woman in the passenger seat snorted.  Even Sara grinned, trying to take the order from the next vehicle.

“Two mochas, full fat,” Sara repeated, echoing the woman’s voice on the other end of her speaker. The dark-haired guy in the SUV handed her cash. 

“I want to pay for the next car,” he said, flicking his eyes up into the rearview mirror. 

“Okay,” Sara said brightly. People did pay-it-forward a lot.

“Tell the driver of that Civic I said she was hot,” he said, smirking. “Really hot.” The guy in the backseat burst out laughing as the driver took their tray of drinks and handed them to the redheaded woman. 

“What about your change?” Sara wondered, as he pulled away. He’d given her too much cash for both orders.

“Drunk people,” Tracy muttered. 

 

The next vehicle pulled up to window and the woman behind the wheel smiled brightly. She was a pretty brunette in dark glasses. There was another woman in the passenger seat, texting furiously. “Hi,” the driver said, holding out a card. “Can you put a tip on this?”

“Oh, it’s already taken care of,” Sara said. “The guy in the last car paid for yours.”

“Oh, okay,” she said, taking her tray. “Thank you.”

“Are you going to tell her?” Tracy called out. Sara started to laugh.

“He wanted me to tell you that you’re really, really hot,” Sara said. The woman rolled her eyes.

“That’s my husband,” the driver said. Her friend in the passenger seat snorted.

“They’re like this everywhere,” she said, “tonight they made out in a bowling alley.”

“Jane!” the driver said. “I just really hate bowling,” she told Sara. “It’s so boring and he’s so cute.”

“It’s why they have to ride in separate cars!” her friend joked, before they drove away.

 

"Our job is so weird," Tracy said.

"It's not our job, it's people," Sara said. "People are weird."

"That redheaded chick was really hot, though," Tracy said aloud. "Why am I never working the window when the hot people are at the drive-thru?"


	65. Mutual Pining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the pine, it was mutual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing! An itty-bitty ficlet for no particular reason

_ Hers _

“Hey, Lewis,” Rumlow said, walking past the door of Jane’s new SHIELD lab. Darcy’s head jerked up. She’d lost track of time. Today was his first day back from being treated by Helen Cho. Her mouth dropped open. Oh God. She’d been nursing a quiet crush before, but now? He was yummy.

“Hiiiiii,” she said, like a giant goober, then blushed with embarrassment. “How are you?” 

“Good,” he said.

“Good?” she said. “That’s great.” She felt flustered. “All back from New York?”

“All patched up,” he said.

“You--you look incredible,” Darcy said, stuttering slightly. She knew her cheeks were pink.

“What, this old face?” he joked. “Not a big deal.”

“Are you doing anything to celebrate?” she said.

“Uh,” he said, looking suddenly confused. Her heart sank. Had she insulted him? Probably. Something in Darcy’s gut twisted. “Not really,” he said.

“Oh,” she said. “Well, you should plan something. Like a fun thing?”

“Yeah,” he echoed, “Celebrate.” His face had gone thoughtful. Or was that insulted? He blinked. It was difficult for Darcy to tell--one, because he was so handsome it made it difficult for her to concentrate and two, he blinked a lot and she hadn’t figured out what the blinks meant. Maybe they meant nothing. Or maybe they meant he was really pissed at her? “I’ll have to plan, uh, something?” he said. Then his watch beeped. “Meeting,” he said, sighing. “I’ll see you this afternoon?”

“Yeah,” Darcy said. Then--for reasons that were, like, either inexplicable or because her ovaries were impossibly stupid--she chirped at his departing back: “Looking forward to it!”

“Oh yeah?” he said, looking back in that half-glance way he had. He blinked again, then gave her the briefest little smile. 

“Oh man!” She’d overstepped, Darcy knew. She groaned and laid her face on the laminate surface of her desk. “Mother-freaking-me,” she muttered, “why can’t my ovaries behave?”

“Hmmm?” Jane said, looking up from the first time for several hours.

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want coffee?” Darcy offered.

“Maybe you could get coffee?” Jane said, clearly in still in science la-la-land. As she walked to the coffee machine, Darcy sighed.

 

What should she do?

  
  
  


_ His _

Brock did security checks every forty minutes. That was protocol. It wasn’t that he wanted to see Darcy Lewis. No. Foster’s work was so classified that they’d placed them on the same floor as the STRIKE teams. High priority. It was his job. He was devoted to his job. And it wasn’t like he’d found himself distracted lately, thinking about her during staff meetings or at his desk. Once, she’d sat next to him, smelling exactly like boozy vanilla. He’d lost an entire briefing and had to ask Jack for notes. So, it wasn’t like he  _ wanted  _ her to see his old face, newly restored by Helen Cho, for the first time. Not at all. He’d swung by for professional reasons. 

 

But she’d blushed. And said he looked incredible. He’d been feeling a weird bit of elation. And she’d asked how he was celebrating. That had thrown him for a loop. He didn’t have parties. He was too fucking old for birthdays--too old for her, a voice in his head nagged--so he didn’t celebrate them. Was she right? Should he throw a party to celebrate his treatment? If he threw a party, would she show? She’d said she was looking forward to seeing him again---but she  _ liked  _ things. Puppies. Cupcakes. Novelty mugs. She could just be saying that so he’d feel nice about having his old face back. It was the sort of thing she’d say out of kindness.

 

He was flummoxed. What should he do?

 


	66. Fall Apart II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for winchesterxgirl: https://write-it-motherfuckers.tumblr.com/post/186269796792/person-a-what-the-fuck-is-wrong-with-you
> 
> -Person A: “What the fuck is wrong with you!?! You’re insane!!!”  
> Person B: “……Am I meant to disagree?”
> 
> A sequel to prompt II of chapter 9, “I fall apart” https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699337/chapters/44686453

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

Darcy tried to avoid Brock at SHIELD, she really did. She didn’t need to get back into all that drama with her ex. It shouldn’t matter that he’d been undercover with HYDRA. Or that he’d been badly burned. He’d still probably slept with that Madison chick. Probably.  He’d insulted Ian, too! That was unforgivable! Darcy seized that thought and held onto it whenever she was tempted to fret about him and wonder if he was getting good medical care or if his mental state was okay. Doubtless he was struggling, though; she knew he’d always been a little vain about his face. It was a good face. Why did the men with the good faces turn out to be cheaters? She was sitting with Ian at lunch one day, thinking about how impossible Brock was, when Ian waved a hand in front of her eyes. “Love?” he said gently.

“Huh?” Darcy said.

“You checked out for a bit,” Ian said.

“Sorry,” she said apologetically. 

“You haven’t finished lunch, I’m worried about you,” Ian teased. 

“Oh,” Darcy said, looking down. She looked back at Ian. He was done. “You don’t have to wait for me,” she said. She hadn’t finished her fries. And Ian was running an experiment with Jane, who’d refused to leave the lab.

“All right,” Ian said cheerfully. He stood up. “See you in a bit.” It was only when Ian walked away that she realized Brock was sitting three tables back, directly in her line of sight. He raised an eyebrow at her. She glared and then went back to her French fries. She would concentrate on her fries and leave...

 

“He bores you,” Brock said, pulling Ian’s chair back and sitting down. 

“Excuse me?” she said, jerking up.

“You’re bored with Fish and Chips,” he said dryly. He stole one of her fries.

“Hey!” Darcy said. He’d always done that. He said he didn’t eat carbs, but then he stole her fries or some of her popcorn. He’d always been mildly troublesome like that--eating her fries, teasing her, surprising her with bouquets made of her favorite Reese’s Cups after a fight.

“I’ll get you more,” he said casually. 

“Why are you eating my lunch and insulting Ian?”

“You know why,” he said, tilting his head. Darcy rolled her eyes.

“No,” she said. “I don’t.”

“Sure you do,” he said, smirking slowly. “Dump him and we can start again. For real this time. No secret work I have to keep from you getting in the way.”

“You’re joking,” Darcy said.

“Nope,” he said. “Foster still have that good supply closet for fooling around in?” He smirked at her. Darcy stared, jaw dropping.

“What is freaking wrong with you?” she hissed. “You think I’m just going to leave Ian and sneak around with you? Again?”  They’d done a bit of sneaking around at the beginning of their first, ill-fated relationship. He tilted his scarred face at her and stole another fry.

“Yeah,” he said, “I do.”

“You’re insane!” Darcy told him in a low voice, so no one would overhear. He grinned at her, spreading his palms on the table and drumming his fingers.

“So what? I’m supposed to disagree or some shit?” he said. “You think sane people infiltrate HYDRA?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” she said, hunching over her fries protectively. “Stop eating my fries.”

“Craziest thing I ever did was letting you leave without telling you the truth,” he said suddenly. His fingers stopped drumming. “I mean that.”

“I’m not upset about that,” Darcy said reflexively. “You couldn’t tell me about HYDRA.”

“Don’t fucking tell me you’re only upset with me about the imaginary other women,” he said. Darcy sighed. He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I’ll get you more fries,” he said, standing up. When he came back to the table with her fries, he straddled the chair and grinned.

“Don’t make smug faces at me,” Darcy said.

“These are okay, but they’re not your favorites. I got a fun new place on U Street,” he told her. “You want to meet me for drinks sometime? I remember how much you like mai tais.”

“You know we can’t just pretend like this is normal,” Darcy said in frustration. “Ian cares about me.”

“Sure,” Brock said, shrugging, “but I love you, sweetheart. That’s what I should’ve told you back then.” 

“Brock,” Darcy said, heart catching in her throat. He’d never said it before. She looked at him, uncertain. He slid her fries closer.

“Eat your French fries,” he said. “We can sort out your complicated love life later.”

“I’m going to throw this ketchup at you,” Darcy vowed, vulnerability shifting to irritation. “You’re like human sandpaper.”

“Yeah,” he said, scrunching his nose. “You always liked that about me.”

“Ketchup packet,” Darcy threatened. He laughed.  


	67. Sorry, We're Cursed! Please Come Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Demon-summoning AU for @itsjaili
> 
> It’s been a difficult year for Darcy Lewis: first, she inherited a weird little shop from her aunt, then she accidentally summoned a demon--ex-HYDRA, natch--before she even knew she was a descendant of witches. Now she’s stuck with Brock Rumlow. And they’ve got to get back several items she really should not have sold. You’d think someone who left you a shop full of weird artifacts would tell you which ones were cursed, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

The last customer paid at the register and departed with their--thankfully, unhexed--Edwardian locket. Darcy locked the door behind them and flipped the sign so it said _Sorry, We’re Closed!_ She was glancing out the window at passerby when something rolled up against the edges of her feet. She looked down. A doll’s head with glassy, empty eyes. “Cut it out, Rumlow,” she told the demon. Darcy didn’t look back. She found that semi-ignoring him made him grumpy, which was fun for her.

“Come on, Lewis,” he said, leaning against a china cabinet. He was being physically visible now, which took effort, she knew.  She rolled the doll’s head back towards him. It stopped at the toe of his thick, sturdy boot.

“You’ll scare the customers,” she told him dryly. When she’d mistakenly brought him over with her aunt’s antique spirit board, it was in his final guise of Crossbones. So, the man leaning against a cabinet full of jadeite glassware was heavily scarred with burns and in dark tactical pants and a t-shirt. He reached casually into a pocket and brought out an apple, chewing it noisily. “Stealing my produce now?” she asked, going over to windex down the glass jeweler counter.

“Working on my pickup game,” he said, a gleam in his eye. “Worried I’ll break all your pretty things?”

“Nope,” Darcy said. Part of the reason that Rumlow could come back was that the shop had lots of dark energy. He drew on it. He’d actually been helpful as she tried to get back mistakenly sold items, because it helped him. He was all about helping himself.  “You wouldn’t jeopardize your new life by damaging the store,” she told him. She moved past him to make coffee.

“I wouldn’t, huh?”  he said. He followed her. Darcy repressed a sigh. He liked to unnerve people. People who knew what he was. Ian had departed for a backpacking trip yesterday, rattled by the way Rumlow stood just a fraction too close. He had asked--begged, really--Darcy to come with, but she was on the hunt for some jinxed art nouveau hairpins. 

“We’ve got to meet the customer in Newmarket tomorrow,” she told him, hoping he’d take the hint and stop staring. “Get those hairpins back.” She sighed. 

“What?” he said. He took another apple bite.

“I’m running low on buyback funds,” she admitted. “We don’t move enough non-cursed merchandise.”

“I probably have money...someplace,” he said.

“What money? Where?” 

“In the Caymans, Switzerland, the usual places,” he said, smirking. 

“But I can’t get that money,” Darcy said. “You’re dead.” He shrugged. 

“I’ll figure something out,” he said. “I can always lift ‘em.”

“What?” Darcy said, momentarily confused.

“Steal the hairpins, innocent,” Rumlow told her. 

“Oh,” Darcy said.

“You’re cute,” he told her, apparently enjoying her embarrassment. 

“You’re annoying,” she said.

“But what would you do without me?” he asked, melting away. All that was left of him was a half-eaten apple on her countertop. Sighing, she threw it away. She knew he wanted her to act like he was a lifesaver for all his help with cursed objects, but she just...couldn’t.

  


In the morning, she packed a bag of snacks into her dented old Civic. She was headed back in for her travel mug of coffee when she almost jumped out of her skin. Rumlow was leaning against the sink. “You startled me,” she said.

“Occupational hazard,” he said dryly. He looked at her with an expression of amusement on his scarred face. “You slept well last night,” he told her.

“Stay out of my room,” she snapped.

“Who says I can’t hear you snoring through the walls?” he said. “I just thought you’d miss your boyfriend?” 

“I do miss Ian,” Darcy said. She went to the door. “Are you coming with me or just going to stand around being a creep?”

“Sure,” he said. “When you say it like that, how can I resist, sweetheart?”

“I’m not your sweetheart,” Darcy said. 

“No?”

“Nope.”

“Can I drive?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said, trying to keep him reasonably amused. He was like a disruptive, vaguely irritating child.

“You got your snacks?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Your, uh, Hershey’s and your Pirate’s Booty,” he said, laughing, as he headed out the door first and she locked it behind them. 

“Shut up,” she muttered. He didn’t reply, but she knew he’d heard her. To her surprise, Rumlow’s boots crunched on the leaves. 

“What?” he said, catching her expression.

“You’re displacing leaves,” she said.

“Magic, Lewis, magic,” he said.

“Dark magic,” she said, more to herself than him. She got in the passenger seat. He dropped her snack bag in her lap.

“Have a kiss, Lewis, you’ll feel better,” he said, turning the car on. She rolled her eyes. “This is an adventure,” he said cheerfully.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by this image:


	68. My Ex Is, Uh, Difficult, Darl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faceworthy wanted some Darcy/Brock/Jack, so here we are. 
> 
> Also, HAVE YOU HEARD? Darcy is back for Disney+'s WandaVision!!!
> 
> Ahhhh! https://ew.com/tv/2019/08/23/wandavision-disney-plus-casts-kat-dennings-randall-park-kathryn-hahn/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

“Dinner tonight, hot stuff?” Darcy asked, sliding onto Jack’s desk and swishing her feet a little. She’d gone to find him during a break in Jane’s lab. Darcy had been seeing Jack Rollins for several weeks. The Australian looked at her and grinned, dropping his habitual murderous expression. It changed his whole face. 

“I’m hot stuff, then?” he asked, arching his eyebrow.

“You see any other dashing Australian STRIKE future Commanders in here?” she asked. Jack was in the running to take over STRIKE Alpha. He leaned back in his chair a fraction and glanced around their suite of offices.

“Can’t say as I do, darl,” he said. “But I don’t have the job yet.”

“So, you’re up for it,” Darcy said teasingly, fully intending it to sound dirty. Jack grinned at her. They’d bonded over their love of dirty jokes and Jack’s ability to unflinchingly handle Jane when he’d caught Darcy dragging her out of SHIELD’s new headquarters one night at three in the morning. 

“They’re s’posed to tell us soon.”

“I have faith you’ll get it. I’ll even cook tonight,” she bargained.

“You cook, darl?” he said dryly.

“I can heat up Trader Joe’s like a professional chef,” Darcy said, loving the way he called her _darl._ It was short for darling.

“All right then,” he said. “It’s date.”

“Barring world emergencies, I’ll see you at eight,” she said. Darcy liked how Jack was a night owl like her. They ate dinner late--after his post-work reports and gym session--he stayed the night, and made her coffee before she had to face wake up calling Jane. It was a good routine.

  


But when she answered the door at home that night, Jack seemed...not himself. “Hey,” Darcy said brightly, “come on in, I’ve got sorta Asian fusion happening.” True to her word, she was doing Trader Joe’s: some warmed Gyoza dumplings, shrimp fried rice, and vegetables. He usually liked that. But tonight he was frowning. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

“I, uh...nothing, love. Nothing,” he said. His adam’s apple bobbed. He was lying, Darcy could tell. She let him eat for a few minutes, then raised an eyebrow.

“Are you going to tell me?” she asked, when she couldn’t be patient any longer.

“I didn’t get the job,” he said.

“Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry,” Darcy said. 

“It’s all right,” he said. “I’m not, uh, that upset. About the job.”

“You’re not? You seem down. Who do Jane I need to portal out of the running?” she joked. He gave her a half-bemused smile.

“That’s, uh, not so much the issue. They picked a good Commander. He’ll do a good job.” Jack swallowed. “He did a good job. He’s coming back,” Jack added, pausing.

“One of the people who left after Triskelion?” Darcy supplied, trying to be helpful. SHIELD had recruited she and Jane in part because other federal agencies had poached SHIELD employees while their post-HYDRA Uprising funding had been in Congressional limbo. 

“Not exactly. He’s been working undercover. It’s Brock. My ex.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, stomach sinking. 

“Helen Cho’s fixed him up now, though,” he added.

“He’s healed?” Darcy said. Jack nodded. She knew about Brock Rumlow, even though she’d never met him. Jack had told her about his affair with his ex-commander while they were both pretending to be HYDRA loyalists. It had ended badly when Brock--reeling from his post-Triskelion injuries--had stormed off to do mercenary work as Crossbones for Fury, against Jack’s wishes. Jack hadn’t wanted him stealing back lost SHIELD equipment; he’d wanted to settle down and have a more normal relationship now that they were both not infiltrating HYDRA. But, according to Jack, Brock was competitive, driven, and impossibly strong-willed. You couldn’t talk him into taking it easy when there was something to prove. And he’d wanted to prove his loyalty to SHIELD and his physical strength, so off he’d gone. They saw Rumlow on the news sometimes. Darcy looked up at Jack a little sadly. “Do you--do you want to start seeing him again?” she said carefully. “Because if you do, I can--I’ll--”

“Darce, no,” Jack said quietly. He reached over and touched her hand gently. “I’m happy with you,” he said. 

“But you were together for years,” Darcy said. 

“They were dodgy years,” Jack said in a tired-sounding voice.

“Yeah?” Darcy said. She’d gotten the impression that the relationship was passionate and intense. She was afraid that Jack was still in love.

  


***

 

Darcy was working next to Jane in the lab when someone just walked in. Heavy boots thudded on the floor and Darcy’s head jerked up. “Hello,” the man said. “Darcy Lewis?” She recognized Brock Rumlow immediately: a swoop of dark, thick hair, a handsome face shadowed by stubble, and muscles for days. His biceps were terrifyingly large against the fabric of his fitted t-shirt. She noticed because he crossed them against his chest and gave her a look.

“Crossbones, I presume?” Darcy said dryly. His expression went cryptic and unreadable. He tilted his head and raked his eyes from her scuffed memory foam sneakers up her leggings and “I heart Reese’s Pieces” t-shirt to her glasses. She felt very judged, all of a sudden. Judged: poorly-dressed, young, and not very fit.

“You’re her, huh?” Rumlow said. His lips curled dismissively. “Are you going to be a problem?”

“Excuse me?” Darcy said. She hadn’t expected him to be so handsome behind his Crossbones gear. He’d worn a silvery mask. It had sort of reminded her of that Leonardo DiCaprio movie where the real French king had been hidden behind one. Her attention was brought back to Rumlow when he spoke again. 

“I want him back,” the man said, frowning. His glare was dark. 

“Jack?” Darcy said, her brain still on Leo and the French monarchy.

“I’d appreciate it if you gave us time to work on our problems,” Rumlow said. Darcy realized Jane was listening, because she’d actually stopped scribbling and was only pretending to science.

“Or you’ll throw me out of a quinjet with Cap’s no-parachute?” Darcy said. 

“Are you being funny?” he said. 

“Usually,” Darcy said. “But isn’t it up to Jack, not me, if he wants to see you or not?”

“That how it’s going to be?” Rumlow said. 

“You mean deferring to Jack, my actual boyfriend, not you, oh ominous stranger with a death glare?” she said wryly. There was a soft sound and Rumlow’s glare increased in intensity. She knew without looking behind her that Jane had just muffled a laugh.

“All right, Lewis,” he said. “That’s how it’s going to be?”

“From today onwards, we are foresworn enemies,” Darcy joked. He snorted.

“You’re ridiculous,” he said. He turned on his heel.

“Good day to you, sir!” Darcy called at his retreating back. She saw the muscles in his back tense. He jerked the door open. 

“Oh my God,” Jane said, after the door shut loudly. “That just happened?” She looked at Darcy with a baffled expression.

“I know, right?” Darcy said. “This place is weird. I still think I saw a cat in Fury’s office.”

“He’s trying to steal Jack,” Jane said, still sounding stunned.

“I have a new nemesis!” Darcy said. She really didn’t think Rumlow would do anything, though. 

 

Darcy was wrong.

 

He sent Jack gifts that night: flowers and an expensive watch. Darcy knew because she was there. “Babe,” Darcy said, when some of the flowers were delivered to Jack’s apartment. “Was Brock Rumlow your sugar daddy?” Her voice was light and teasing. Jack was embarrassed. He kept ducking his head and blushing. His expression was sheepish.

“He is older than me,” Jack said in a strangled voice.

“It’s a nice watch,” Darcy said. “You can dive with this, the card says!”

“Darce, I’m sending it back,” Jack said.

“You don’t have to,” Darcy said. She didn’t feel threatened by Rumlow’s heavy-handed wooing. 

“I’m not for sale, I don’t care how much bloody Crossbones money Fury gave him,” Jack grumbled. All the rest of the evening, Darcy jokingly sang part of Bon Jovi’s “Love for Sale” and Jack sighed heavily.

“Can’t you switch to another one?” he complained. 

“You Give Love A Bad Name?” Darcy suggested, performing invisible drums on the table.

“Bloody hell,” Jack said, looking torn between amusement and surprise.

“Did you know Richie Sambora used to date Cher?” Darcy said. He looked at her quizzically.

“How are you so calm? Most people are terrified of him,” Jack said.

“Grumpy Cat Rumlow doesn’t scare me, I’ve met Odin,” Darcy said. She leaned over to kiss Jack. “Come to bed.” She hadn’t explained Rumlow’s little visit today, for fear he’d be upset.

 

They were making out when there was a noise from the living room. It sounded like someone coming into the apartment. “Jack, honey,” Darcy said, slowly, trying to get his face out of her tatas.

“Hmm?” the Australian said, clearly more focused on Left Boob.

“Did you forget to get your key back from Rumlow?” she said. Just then a familiar masculine voice called out.

“Jack, baby?” Definitely Rumlow, Darcy decided. Jack’s face went slack.

“Oh no. Bloody hell,” he muttered. Just then, the bedroom light clicked on. Rumlow was standing in the doorway. He looked upset.

“The fuck?” he said. Jack sighed.

“Mate,” Jack said slowly. “This is my girlfriend _who I told you about.”_

“We’ve met,” Darcy reminded him. “I had clothes on at the time.”

“Fuck,” Rumlow repeated.  His eyes dropped to her. She was topless and in her undies.

“We were trying,” Darcy said pertly. “Before you showed up.”

“I’m sorry,” Rumlow said, looking supremely awkward. Darcy was shocked that he’d actually apologized. That was the biggest surprise of the day. Maybe the sight of some boobage stunned him into social compliance?

“Let’s have a word,” Jack announced calmly. He and Jack left the room as she crawled under the sheet and Darcy heard a whispered argument. First, Jack asked him if he’d lost his mind. Then Rumlow muttered more apologies. Finally, Rumlow left. Jack came in and sat on the bed. He ran his hands through his hair. Darcy started to giggle. “You think this is funny?” he said.

“Everyone loves you,” she said, still laughing. 

“I worry about him. Why can’t I stop?” Jack said.

“Because you still care, doofus,” she said. “He does, too.”

“I’m sorry, love,” he said. 

“I’m not upset,” she said. She really wasn’t.

 

***

Rumlow did love Jack, too, she was sure. But he behaved himself professionally at work from then on. It was just that she felt his eyes. He didn’t talk to her or Jack more than necessary, but he definitely watched them. Darcy felt Rumlow’s gaze when she and Jack walked into Cameron Klein’s birthday; when she and Jane gave presentations on science-y things; when she tagged along at a STRIKE get together at a DC bar. Bucky Barnes was teaching her some basic old school dance steps when Rumlow suddenly cut in. “Do you mind?” he said.

“No,” Darcy said, curious. Bucky slipped quietly away, his expression canny. Darcy wondered how much he knew about Brock and Jack?

“You having a good night?” Rumlow asked.

“Yup. Here to steal my man or make me disappear?” Darcy asked, a note of sass in her voice. She was just tipsy enough to tease him. It seemed like a fun idea. His expression was cryptic. “I’ve warned Natasha. She won’t let you dismember me without reporting it to the proper authorities.” Rumlow grimaced and then met her eyes, but didn’t respond. “And Steve would never let a girl’s body be buried in New Jersey. C’mon, you’re not going to talk?” she teased. He sighed and licked his lips.

“Lewis, I’m not going to murder you--or take Jack away from you,” he said. He blinked at her. The grip on her hand and hip was warm and surprisingly gentle. 

“I know, Jack likes me,” she said. “You’d have to take him by force and he’s a literal tree.”

“You don’t have to be so goddamned smug, the man loved me once,” he said, turning her so she spun in a circle. That motion was gentle, too. She thought he was trying to hide the grin he’d done when she called Jack a tree. He seemed more amused than offended.

“I’m sure you’re very lovable,” Darcy said, swaying against him.

“Your sarcasm is touching,” he said.

“Nope, he still says good things about you,” she said. “Also, you have excellent taste in man bling, I really wanted him to keep that nice watch.” Rumlow laughed in her ear. He arm around her waist was sturdy.

“You did now?” he said. His breath ghosted over her ear. “You talk about me?”

“Sometimes,” she said honestly. Actually, she worried that Jack fretted over him. Darcy leaned into Rumlow’s embrace. “He worries about you.”

“That’s good of him,” Rumlow said. “He’s a good person--it’s too bad--” he stopped and his expression went blank.

“What’s too bad?” she asked, turning her head. When he looked away, she planted her feet. “Spill, Brockford T. Rumlow,” she said.

“That’s not my name.” His sigh was aggrieved.

“It’s nobody’s name, it’s a cartoon character or an old timey detective,” she said slyly. She got another tiny fractional grin and decided to push her luck. “C’mon, tell me.” She begged. “Tell me, Rumlow.” Getting a smile out of him felt like an accomplishment.

“It’s too bad we can’t work something out,” he said. “Me and Jack and you.” His voice was low. “A relationship,” he added.

“You want to time share the Aussie?” Darcy said, surprised it hadn’t occurred to her before. It would probably make Jack happy to date both of them, she realized. Also, she was sexually a little vanilla and she wondered if Jack needed more variety and spice. Rumlow was definitely more into kink than her. She’d seen his tattoos and off-work clothes. He was always strutting around in jeans that showed off his good ass and astonishingly fit body. It was the perfect plan! Across the room, Jack was animatedly talking to Steve and Bucky. So Darcy kept talking. She was a little excited. “Like, you get Outback Steakhouse on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I get Mondays and Wednesdays--” she was saying, when she looked at Rumlow.  He was staring at her now.

“Not what I meant,” Rumlow scoffed. He looked away.

“What did you mean?” she said, perplexed. He was looking at a point somewhere over her shoulder, expression unreadable.

“I meant all of us,” he said, licking his lips. “All three of us. Dating.”  Darcy felt her knees go weak. 

“Me?” she said. “You want to date me?” It came out squeakier than she’d meant it to and she pulled a face. He actually chuckled then.

“Why not?” he said. 

“I’m a girl,” she said. She’d assumed he was gay. He was so fit and his hair was always flawlessly undercut. Also, she’d once overheard him call Cap, “hey, handsome,” like it was an inside joke between them, all flirty.

“Yeah and?” he said. “I like girls, too.” Had he actually just winked at her then? She thought the wink turned into a smirk. A sexy smirk. Her knees melted a little more.

“Zero cardiovascular strength,” she added, brain reeling.

“Mmm hmmm.” He leaned in, close to her ear. “I’ve seen you naked,” he said in a low voice. Darcy felt her cheeks turn pink. “What?” Rumlow said. “What’s that face?”

“Ahhhh, I’m freaking out.”

“Why?” he asked.

“You’re a lot,” she said.

“More than Jack?” he said, tilting his head.

 “Jack’s very chill,” she said. “He has cheat days and eats chocolate chip pancakes with me. He owns Tevas.” Rumlow laughed.

“True. Those fucking sandals,” he said, tucking her closer to him. His hand slipped down. 

“Yeah,” Darcy said. She found herself watching the tattoo on the inside of his upper arm. It was intricate and beautiful. “Jack’s very Mellow Show. So, I never feel like he judges my salt lamps or my Pop Tarts.”

“Mellow Show?” he said. 

“The SNL skit with all the stoned, sandals-wearing surfer musicians,” she explained. “Making fun of Dave Matthews and Jack Johnson. Jack’s like that. Low stress, as new boyfriends go.”

“And I’m not?” he said.

“I bet you don’t own a single hemp necklace,” Darcy said, leaning in closer. He smelled really good.

“Fucking hell no,” he said. Then he started to laugh.

“What?” Darcy said. 

“I have some gold chains, though,” he admitted, almost slyly. “You and Jack got plans on Friday?”

 

When she found Jack, he looked at her curiously. “What did he say, love? You two looked, uh, friendly enough?” he added.

“He—he wants to date us. You and me,” Darcy explained.

“Really?” Jack said. She saw a flicker of hope in his eyes. “What’d you say?”

“You want me to say yes?” Darcy said. 

“Not if you don’t want to,” Jack said hurriedly. His face was worried. Darcy tapped his nose gently.

“We have a date on Friday,” she said, grinning. “Also, have you ever seen him in a gold chain?” Jack’s head swivelled slowly from her face to Rumlow across the room and back again. Darcy glanced over her shoulder. Rumlow smirked.

“Bloody hell,” Jack muttered. “He’s going to aggressively woo you now, I know it.”

“Yup,” Darcy said. “Except I keep everything anybody gives me. Jane and I were broke-ass Science Ladies for far too long.” Jack laughed, then looked at her. His grin was wide.

 


	69. Laundry Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @ibelieveinturtles, based on this image:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

 

“I am so pissed right now!” Darcy fumed, stomping into the lab in SHIELD’s covert Norway station. “They did it again!”

“Huh?” Jane said, looking up from her equipment--she was putting two pieces together with a mini-welder--and flipping up her eye-protecting visor. “Who?”

“The asshole who keeps throwing our laundry out of the washing machine, so he can have it,” she said. “I’m confronting him.”

“How do you know it’s a him?” Jane said.

“Jane,” Darcy said. “No woman would ever throw another woman’s underwear on that cement floor. Girl code.”

“Yeah?” Jane said skeptically. Darcy handled all their laundry. Jane tended to mess things up. They had been at this secret facility for more than six months, but this dilemma was new. A new crop of SHIELD people had just moved in, though. Doubtless, this was one of the new people. The older, more established crew hadn’t done anything like this.

“All right,” Darcy said. “What do I do”--she was looking out the window--”for the perfect revenge? What--Jane!” Darcy squealed. “I’ve got it!”

“What?” Jane said, wincing. She’d made dolphin sounds.

“It’s very, very cold out there,” Darcy said, smirking. She did a little shimmy. “I’m gonna get you, asshole! Woot! Woot!”

“Okay,” Jane said.

“I’ll be back,” Darcy said.

  


Jane was welding several minutes later when some motion out the window caught her eye. She looked up. “Holy shit,” Jane said, yanking up the visor and peering out the window. Darcy was scattering tactical clothing in the snow and laughing. Jane leaned close enough to the chilly glass to hear what Darcy was saying to herself.

“Take that, motherfucker!” Darcy said, doing the chicken dance. “Oooh, oooh.” Darcy was still singing “Love Rollercoaster” to herself when she got back to the lab. That was how Jane knew she was in a good mood. Whenever Darcy played the Red Hot Chilli Peppers, that meant a good mood earned through vindication or revenge.

 

***  

 

Brock Rumlow went to the on-base laundry room. He’d been dead on his feet when he arrived the week before, totally out of clean tactical clothing for work, fresh out of Helen Cho’s Cradle, and still on call. He was pulling double the number of shifts he had before Triskelion. He’d thought being out of his undercover role in HYDRA would mean less work, but they’d lost too many people in DC. And he’d had to do that whole Crossbones assignment until they got Cap to help fake his death and Cho to patch him up.  He’d had to yank some poor tech’s laundry out to do his own twice now. The new schedule was a nightmare. He’d meant to leave a note for whoever it was, but none of the techs seemed to know. Which meant someone in R&D. He felt vaguely guilty. But, fuck, they needed him for world-saving shit. He couldn’t do that naked, even if he had his old body back.

 

He pushed the door open and heard the hum of dryers. Had someone put his stuff in a dryer? He walked over---and stared. There was a note, written in glitter pen, taped to the washing machine:

 

_To:_

_The person who took my wet laundry out of this washer to wash their clothes? Twice? Mid-cycle?! And put them on the floor?_  
_  
_ YOU'RE AN ASSHOLE!!!!!

_Unfortunately for you, I’m an asshole too. :) Your stuff is outside in the snow. Frozen. If you’ve got a problem with that, come see me in lab 137._

 

  
  
“Fuck,” Brock said out loud. He stomped out of the laundry room’s nearest exterior door. “Shit,” he said, staring. His tactical clothes were arranged in a smiley face in the snow. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Brock muttered. He had to go put on gloves before he could gather up his clothing. Then he called Hill. 

“That’s terrible laundry room etiquette,” she told him. “I should write you up.”

“What choice did I have?” he said, sighing. “You want me on a quinjet, I need fucking clothes.”

“I’ll put in an order for more machines,” Hill said. He was dumping the clothes into the dryer to unfreeze when he realized something. 

“She touched my underwear,” he said out loud. 

“What?” Hill said. They were still on the phone.

“This woman--it’s obviously a woman, the handwriting’s feminine and they’re using glitter pen,” Brock said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Plus, the clothes were women’s,” he added.

“The ones you put on the floor?” Hill said.

“I put ‘em on a table. I don’t know how they got on the floor,” he grumbled. “The note says they’re in lab 137.”

“Oh.”

“Oh what?” he asked.

“That’s Foster’s lab,” Hill explained.

“Thor’s ex? Shit.”

“Uh-huh,” she repeated. “Still want that meeting?” Rumlow frowned at the phone, then shifted his weight.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll apologize, Maria,” he added.

“I know you will.”

 

***

 

“Shit,” Darcy said, staring at her email. 

“What?” Jane asked.

“I’m in trouble,” she muttered. “Maria wants me to meet with Laundry Dude in twenty. Some guy named--get this--Brock Rumlow.” Jane snickered. Darcy rolled her eyes. “I guess Rock McMuscles was taken?”

“You might have to apologize,” Jane said. She giggled. “To Rock McMuscles?”

“I don’t have to mean it,” Darcy said in a low voice. Jane snorted. “It’s not like I didn’t learn that from you,” Darcy added mirthfully, standing up. “You want more coffee before I go?”

“Yes,” Jane said. “And yes.”

“What’s the second yes?” Darcy said, pausing at the doorway.

“You did learn that from me,” Jane said, turning back to her work. 

 

Darcy bopped into the break room, singing “Umbrella” to herself. She was brewing coffee when someone stepped into the room behind her. “Did you need to---?” she began, meaning to offer him access to the coffee pot. She turned and stuttered. The handsome man in the room smiled at her. 

“Did I need to what?” he said. He raked his dark eyes over her face.

“Get--get in here?” Darcy said. His smile turned wolfish. She wanted to melt into a puddle of embarrassment. Or maybe swoon. It was an either or, really. He had incredibly yummy muscles, a swoop of dark hair, and a five o’clock shadow she could seriously get ideas about. Also, the posture of someone used to taking charge of...things? 

“Sounds like an idea, sweetheart,” he said, smirking wider. He moved into the room with an almost animalistic gait and reached smoothly for a mug. 

“Whoa,” Darcy said.

“Hmm?” he said, tilting his head at her. 

“Where’d you learn to move like a velociraptor from _Jurassic Park?”_ Darcy asked, then wanted to retract the question. She was being weird! She blushed. He’d set his mug down on the brew station and pressed a button. He grinned.

“I’m a clever boy,” he said wryly. 

“Hummmm,” Darcy stuttered. She really didn’t mean to make that sound. His grin widened.   

“You have plans tonight?” he said. “I’m new in town--”

“Yeah,” she said. “I mean, yeah, obviously, you’re new because I would have remembered--” she said, then stopped. “I’m Darcy,” she stammered. He smiled.

“But you don’t have plans? Or do you?”

“No plans,” Darcy said.

“Wanna make some?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah.” She blushed and looked away. “I’d love to---oh shit!” She’d seen the clock over his shoulder.

“What?” he said, frowning.

“I gotta take this coffee to my boss, I have a meeting in four minutes!” Darcy said. She grabbed both coffee cups, took three steps, then abruptly turned, set them down, and looked at him. “You don’t have my number!”

“No,” he said, smirking. “You need a pen?”

“Uh-huh,” she said. “And a freaking Post-It!”

 

She ended up writing her number on a paper towel and giving him a smile before fleeing. “Shit, shit, shit,” she said out loud, after she’d dropped off Jane’s coffee and was hurrying to Hill’s office. She didn’t want to piss off Maria. Maria was the person who approved all her orders for fun supplies and Hershey’s Kisses for the lab. She rounded the corner at top speed and burst into Maria’s office. “Sorry, sorry, sorry---oh,” Darcy said. Agent Hottie from the break room grinned at her.

"Hi," he said.

"Helllooo," Darcy said, smiling.

“I might be the reason she’s late,” he said smoothly.

“This is the agent you need to apologize to,” Maria said to Darcy. Darcy stared, mouth open.

“You--you--you’re-” she stuttered. She couldn’t think of his actual name. All she could think of was Rock McMuscles.

“Brock Rumlow,” he said, smiling.

“You-- _you put my laundry on the floor?”_ Darcy said.

“No, I did not do that. I put your clothes on the table,” he told her. He looked at Maria. “We’ve got a date,” he said. “We just met in the break room.” Maria rolled her eyes.

“No,” Darcy said. “I--technically---apologize for freezing your clothes, but based on new data, no, we do not have a date.”  

“What?” he said, frowning.

“Okay,” Maria said.

“Baby,” he said. “C’mon, we can work this out.”

“My favorite sweater was all moldy. Moldy!” Darcy said. “I can’t get the smell out!” Maria’s lip quirked a fraction, but Darcy was still too stunned to focus. 

“You froze my briefs!” he said back.

“Could you, uh, take this outside?” Maria said. “Work it out independently?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “I’m sure we can, sweetheart.” Darcy whirled and stomped out. “Honey, hold on,” he called, hurrying after her.

“Ugh!” Darcy said. “I can’t believe you’re--you’re him!” 

“You’re really mad?” he said, looking baffled.

“Twice! Twice, you wrecked my clothes!” she yelled. 

“Should I wait a week to call?” he said to her retreating back.

“Argh!” Darcy said. Intelligently. 

“Two weeks?” he yelled.

“Bite me!” she yelled back.

 

He called that afternoon, apologizing to her voicemail. “You should call him,” Jane said. Darcy had described his appearance to Jane when she dropped off the coffee. Maybe too much. “You thought he was, what did you say, ‘astonishingly hot and all muscly and good hair and stuff’?” Jane added.

“Yeah, that was before I knew he was the Laundry Monster of Norway,” Darcy said bitterly. “My favorite sweater, Jane! The teal one!”

“You said you wanted to show him your boobs in the break room,” Jane said.

“That was then, this is now. He’s never seeing them,” Darcy said venomously.

  


She stuck to her boobs, er, guns for a week. She was doing laundry when he found her again. “Hey,” he said, leaning into the room. 

“Here to throw all my socks on the floor?” she said archly.

“Looking for you,” he said, a grin flitting across his face. He strolled over. She was squeezing moisture out of a blouse. Vindictively. “You hold a grudge like an Italian,” he said, sounding cheerful. Why was he cheerful?

“I’m pretending this is your neck,” Darcy said, wringing out some water. He chuckled.

“I expected you to glue my locker or something,” he said.

“Maria”--Darcy’s whole posture was stiff--”expects better of me than you.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, leaning against the nearest washer. Darcy was sure he was doing it to show off his tattoos and arm muscles. “Why don’t we end the vendetta, huh?”

“I never end a vendetta,” Darcy said. “I’m still mad at Billy Thomason for pushing me down in third grade.”

“You want me to find him and hurt him a little?” he offered. 

“Like you have any follow-through,” Darcy scoffed. 

“I do where it counts,” he said, smirking. She rolled her eyes. He was still smiling. “You, uh, ever have sex on a dryer, sweetheart?”

“No,” Darcy said, trying not to laugh. Was he really going to ask and then…? 

“You want to?” he said, straightening up to put his arms around her. “I could apologize now, make it up to you--” 

“Uhhhhh,” Darcy said, momentarily stunned and also a little swoony. The audacity of the man. The handsome, sexy impossibly irritating man. For a laundry-throwing schmuck, he smelled great. And he was so warm. It was cold in Norway, she never felt warm. Until now. His mouth was close to her ear. She sighed and leaned against his cheek. The stubble was pleasantly scratchy. He pulled her a fraction closer and she actually felt his smile. His hands moved down to her hips.

“You want to fool around?” he said, voice lower. “Right here? Right now?”

“Yeah,” she breathed out. “But this is only the beginning of the apology, understand?”

“Sure,” he said, pushing her hair aside to kiss her neck. His fingers massaged her hips and then reached for her waistband. “God,” he murmured, “you’re so gorgeous.” She chased his mouth as he pulled down her thermal leggings and then she was being lifted.

“Whoa,” she said, clinging to his shoulders.

“I gotcha,” he said, “I gotcha, baby.”

“You’re strong,” Darcy said, feeling all fluttery. She swallowed. Her heart was racing. The washer had a slight rock.

“You should see your face,” he smirked, unbuttoning his pants. 

“Condoms,” she said, trying to sound stern and drag her eyes away from the flash of briefs visible to her now that his fly was down and the button undone. He leaned in to kiss her with a smirk.

“Been carrying them around since we met,” he whispered, nuzzling her face. Entranced to the point of stupidity, she laughed and reached out to touch him, running her hand over his shirt and lifting it to peer at his abs.

“Yeah,” she said. “Wow.” He grinned, seeming to see how transfixed she was. 

“Mmmm-hmm,” he said, going for his back pocket as she caressed his abs and trailed her fingers down. “We’re going to have so much fun together, sweetheart.”  

“We better,” she said. “That’s part of the apology. Also, you owe me a sweater.”

“Let’s get this one off, huh?” he said, smirking. “Just so I know your size?”

“Asshole,” she said, letting him lift the edge. He laughed. 

 

***

 

“What is it?” Maria Hill said, when one of the security staff came and knocked on the frame of her office door.

“There’s a situation in the laundry room,” the man said. “Commander Rumlow and a woman, ma’am.” He looked nervous. 

“Great,” she said sarcastically. Maria pulled up the security feed on her laptop and then made a sound of surprise. For her, it was equivalent of two Fury motherfuckers. “Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?”

“Yes,” the security guy said. “But I think that dryer will hold their weight.”

“Please don’t tell me how you know that two people can have sex on a dryer, O’Malley,” Maria said.   

“No, ma’am,” he said, blushing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Rumlow’s Endgame body language just reminds me weirdly of a predatory animal. It’s a neat trick: https://rockbumlow.tumblr.com/post/186982958627
> 
>  


	70. Laundry Day II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sequel fic to the previous chapter and partially inspired by that Reddit thread tumblr post about "favorite signs of affection from your wife/SO"
> 
> this one: https://www.reddit.com/r/AskMen/comments/asp6lg/whats_one_nonsexual_act_your_so_does_to_make_you/
> 
> _I often come to bed after her, and she’s a pretty heavy sleeper. Without fail, I’ll get settled in to bed and she does what I call the reach. Where she’ll start swatting around to find me. Once a body part is located she attempts to crawl into my skin. All while asleep. Lol most nights I just lay there and kinda chuckle. It’s the little things._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“What I was thinking,” Darcy told Cameron Klein excitedly, “is a galaxy cake for Jane’s birthday.” They were walking through the Norwegian facility that housed Darcy, Jane, and a bunch of covert SHIELD staff, post-Triskelion mess. “I just don’t have access to all the ingredients or a car and nobody will let me use Amazon,” she added, frowning. The facility had weird security protocols about packages and was on lockdown this week after a threat. Level orange. Orange meant no funsies. 

“Can’t your boyfriend get you the stuff?” Cam said. “He’s always in and out?”

“My who?” Darcy said.

“Rumlow?” Cam said, grinning like she was the silly one. 

“Oh. Yeah,” Darcy said. “I could ask him. He gets all the chocolates.” At Cam’s blank look, she explained. “He always texts me that he’s in an undisclosed location and do I need anything and then brings back chocolate,” she said. “Weird chocolates, usually. He can’t tell me where he goes, but they’re always funny.” After the Second Laundry Room Incident, aka that time they’d had sex, Darcy had been pretty sure Rumlow was avoiding her the next day. But it had turned out he was just on a mission. He’d brought her some candy called Cloud 9 that she’d figured out was popular in southeast Asia.

“Funny how?” Cam asked.

“One time, they were these strange coconut-cherry things from Australia called Cherry Ripes,” Darcy said.

“Coconut cherry?” Cam said, making a face.

“Right? People eat strange chocolates,” she said. “Gorenjka’s good, though. Get that, if you ever get stationed in, like, Eastern Europe or something. I’m still not exactly sure.”  Cam nodded.

“How do you spell that?” Cam asked. Darcy spelled it out loud and he tapped the info into his phone.

 

“Jane,” Darcy said, when she was back in the lab, “is Brock my boyfriend?”

“Hmmm?” Jane said.

“Is Brock my boyfriend?” Darcy repeated. Jane looked up at her with a puzzled expression.

“What?” she said.

“Cam called him my boyfriend today and now I’m all befuddled,” Darcy said. “What are we?” Darcy had been thinking. They’d had sex all over the facility, of course. But he was gone at least four days out of every seven, if not more. She’d been thinking that it was very casual. He usually texted her on his way back in from the undisclosed locations, but that was because he liked having sex in the morning, right? Also--Darcy had mostly dated cute, nerdy guys, pre-Rumlow--she was always a little befuddled around him. Slightly bewitched or something. “Is this what it’s like to date someone really hot?” she said out loud to Jane. “Not knowing what you are all the time?”

“Yes,” Jane said. “It absolutely freaking is.”

“Well, that sucks, Janeybug.”

“It totally does,” Jane said, tapping her keyboard with a kind of focused grimness. Thor and she were on a break. Darcy had secret hopes they’d get back together, though. She scrunched her nose in thought. She was still thinking about it when she did laundry that night. Her phone buzzed. Darcy pulled it out of her pocket.

 

Cmdr. B. Rumlow: _Be back sometime tonight, sweetheart. Need anything from an undisclosed location?_

 

She realized she was smiling down at her phone and then shook her head. “I’m going all goofy,” she said to herself.

 

 

***

“I’m dead on my feet, boss,” one of the STRIKE agents said, yawning, as they stepped out of a post-mission debriefing. It was four-twenty three am, Norway time. 

“That’s everybody’s favorite line,” another said wryly. 

“Get some rest,” Rumlow said. “We should have two days off, if we’re lucky.” He looked across the hall. He could see Maria Hill through the glass panels of the adjoining room. She was puzzling over a facilities map. There were push pins everywhere. “Go sleep,” he told the agents. They shuffled off, talking and laughing quietly. After they’d gotten far enough away, he walked into the conference room. 

“Nice knock, Rumlow,” Hill said archly.

“My team needs sleep, Hill,” he said. “Even Rodriguez is about a half-second slower and you know she’s the best of the lot.”

“I’m working on it,” she said to him. “We’ve got two new teams flying in tomorrow to help you bust these remnant HYDRA cells. After they’re gone, your workload will be more like a normal STRIKE team.”

“Really?” he said, unable to keep the hopeful note out of his voice. The Avengers had managed to clear most of the major HYDRA centers while he was Crossbones, but they’d discovered smaller cells in the ensuing period. He was so fucking tired of HYDRA. Trying to balance finding cells with normal STRIKE work was stressful.

“I’m just trying to find places to put everybody,” Hill said, frowning. “I have one bed in suite 3C and two agents left.” That was when he realized that the push pins were room arrangements. He frowned at the map. The facility’s rooms were arranged like  dormitory suites. Several bedrooms around a common area with a shared bedroom. It was difficult to navigate rearranging everyone. Rumlow studied it for a moment. As a STRIKE commander, he had a rare single room and private bathroom. He reached over and moved some the pins. “Hey,” Hill said.

“Take them out of their suite. Put Lewis in with me and Foster in the free room in 3C across the hall with the other R&D people. She gets along with them,” he said. “You’ve got an empty suite for your STRIKE agents. Problem solved, right?”

“You want to share your room with Darcy Lewis?” Hill said.

“It’s not a big deal,” Rumlow said casually. “She’s probably sleeping there now.” He’d texted her that they were headed back to base several hours ago. 

“All right,” Hill said, looking dubious. He turned to leave. “Are you sure you shouldn’t ask Lewis?” Hill called. He waved dismissively.

“It’s fine,” he said.

 

Rumlow went quietly into his room. She was asleep in the bed, an indistinct lump. He dropped an Indian chocolate bar on the nightstand and then moved into the bathroom to take a shower. He felt grimy and dirty. When he emerged clean and naked, Darcy was snoring wheezily. He grinned. It was too cold in Norway to sleep naked, unfortunately, so he sat on the bed to slip on thermals. Rumlow fucking hated thermals, but they were a necessity here. He glanced over his shoulder. She was bundled under two blankets like a burrito. This was his favorite part of arriving back at base. He climbed in next to her and waited. A second or two later, she was wiggling in response to the shift of his weight. He felt a hand fumble over his arm under the blanket, patting, and he chuckled. She squirmed closer. He rolled over and scooped her up a little. She curled into his embrace with a soft _oof_ sound, then went back to wheezing gently. 

 

He smiled against the top of her head. She’d started doing it a week after they’d gotten together: whenever she felt him come to bed, she would automatically scoot closer, feeling and reaching for him. The first time, he’d assumed she was awake. The second time, he’d realized she did it in her sleep. In the morning, he’d started asking she be there whenever he got back. He told her it was because he liked having sex when they woke up in the morning--technically true--but that wasn’t the real reason. She had no idea, of course. 

 

In her sleep, she wiggled closer and sighed against his neck. He rubbed her back gently.

 

***

Darcy woke up feeling all warm and cozy. She knew Brock was there even as she opened her eyes. “Hey,” she said sleepily.  Darcy grinned at him. His hair was sticking up everywhere. He was stretching the arm not underneath her.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, lowering his arm back around her. It was heavy and sturdy, She leaned over and kissed one thermal-covered bicep. “What’s that for?” he said, tilting his head. He blinked those amber-brown eyes she loved so much. They had little flecks of green in them. He had beautiful eyes. Jane had vetoed them as a subject of conversation in the lab; she was sick of hearing Darcy say brown-green eyes were the most stunning.

“I felt a burst of affection,” she said, feeling oddly giddy. “It’s always nice when you’re back.”

“Yeah?” he said. “I, uh, might be back more.”

“Really?” she said, smiling.

“They got new teams coming in today. Hill told me last night. She was having trouble finding space, so she was up doing room reassignments,” he said.

“Oh,” Darcy said. “I wonder if she’ll want Jane and me to move?” She scrunched her nose. If Hill wanted she and Jane to move, she’d have to make sure it was with a roommate that Jane liked. And who liked Jane…..

“I’m sure we can figure something out,” he said, grinning.

“What’s that face about?” Darcy said.

“Nothing,” he said. The smirk got wider. 

“You made that face before you tricked me into eating those wasabi Kit-Kats from Japan!” she said, shoving him a little. He laughed.

“Tricked you?” He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t trick you, baby.”

“You left them on my desk. I thought that green color was mint,” she grumbled. He chuckled. “I ate one for breakfast!” she added.

“You didn’t smell that they weren’t mint?” he wondered out loud. Mockingly.

“Shut up or you don’t get to see the boobs,” Darcy said.

“Ooooh, threat level boobs,” he teased. She felt him reach for the hem of her pajama top. He smirked again. “C’mon, lemme make up the wasabi thing, sweetheart,” he said, giving her a smoldering look.

“Yeah,” she said, sighing happily. “I can be persuaded.” She wiggled up to undo some buttons.

“You need more persuasion?” he cracked, nuzzling her face. “I’m good at that.” 

  
  


Darcy was running around the lab that afternoon in a semi-panic--they’d had a small fire when some of Jane’s equipment sparked onto paper readouts--so she was feeling flustered.  That was when Cameron appeared in the doorway. “Hey, Darce,” he said.

“Cam!” she said. “Don’t worry, nothing’s on fire. Jane’s gone to pick up new parts. I hope no one’s freaked out.”

“Oh, I’m not here for that,” he said, grinning. “Hill wants your signature on the room reassignment forms.” He passed her a tablet.

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Where is she putting us?” she whispered. She would need to break the news gently. She looked at the electronic forms. “Jane’s with the R&D team in 3C? Okay, that might work---where am I?” She scanned down.

“You’re with Rumlow across the hall?” Cam said. 

“What?” Darcy said. She almost dropped the tablet.

“He told Hill to put you with him?” Cam said.

“He didn’t tell me,” Darcy muttered. “Do you know where he is?”

“I don’t,” Cam said, frowning. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No,” Darcy said. They were still talking about the move when Jane returned.

“What’s going on?” she asked Darcy.

“We’re, um, moving?” Darcy said tentatively. 

“What?” she said. “I’m moving?” Jane said, looking horrified.

“Here’s the new assignments,” Cam said politely.

 “Where are you? I don’t see you,” Jane said, frowning.

“Brock told Hill to move me into his room,” Darcy said.

“Oh,” Jane said. “What?”

“Yup,” Darcy said, doing big eyes at Jane.

"What's that?" Cam asked.

"She's doing big eyes," Jane said.

"I learned it from a cute dog. He did it when he saw a treat," Darcy said.

 

Darcy found Brock in one of the training rooms. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, when he realized she was standing behind him. He’d paused his conversation with another agent to half look over his shoulder. Darcy had stopped to stare at the back of his arms--she loved his tattoos and muscles--for several seconds. She was trying to breathe normally. How was she supposed to handle this? “Something wrong?” he said, moving over smoothly. He seemed to hover over her. She leaned in so no one would overhear.

“You want me to live in your room? I mean--with you?” she whispered. “Cameron brought me the forms.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling slowly. It was a cryptic smile. “I thought it would be fun.” 

“Oh,” Darcy said, grinning in spite of herself. Her heart was all fluttery. He looked back to the other agents and she eyed the muscles of his neck. Would he mind if she reached up to touch him during a training exercise…?

“Michaels,” he called out. “Come meet my girlfriend.” Darcy squeaked a little and his head swiveled back to her. “What was that?” Brock said, smirking.

“Nothing,” she lied. She wasn’t going to admit that the phrase “my girlfriend” made her feel all kinds of fluttery feelings.

“Sure,” he said, tilting his head and giving her one of those intense _I-see-you_ looks that she thought he mostly reserved for work. He smirked. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said, licking his lips.

“Oh,” Darcy said, brain stuttering. 


	71. We'll Always Have The Hoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I don't know where this came from, except that Jenna Marbles thing about how she never scream-laughed until she met her SO.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

Her SHIELD security guy had been following Darcy for three hours and he’d yet to crack a smile. Brock Rumlow was stone-faced. She was determined to get one smile before the afternoon was over. It wasn’t just because he was handsome, but that helped. Also, Jane was off with Thor and Darcy was bored. She was stuck at this conference hotel with him for three days until Jane and Thor returned for Jane’s panel talk. She had an idea. Very casually, she dropped her scarf. “Whoops,” Darcy said.

“I’ll get it,” Rumlow said seriously. He bent down. She gave him a longer look than she’d been able to with him trailing behind her. That was when Darcy realized he was handsome _and_ firm. Very firm. An ass like a peach in dark pants. She reached out and pinched his butt with a grin. He froze. “Lewis?” he said, her scarf in his hand.

“Yes?” she said.

“Did you just pinch my ass?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said. “It’s a very cute butt, Agent. Like, super cute. I was helpless to resist.” There was a pause. 

“Helpless to resist?” he said. She wondered if he was going to yell. Instead she heard something she hadn’t expected.

 

He was laughing. 

 

A wild, low laugh. He stayed down. The laughter continued. It edged into a different sound. “Did you just snort-laugh?” Darcy asked, trying not to lose it. He craned his head around to look at her.

“Yeah,” he said. She thought she saw a gleam of tears in his eyes. He was crying laughing?

“This cannot be the first time someone’s pinched your booty, though? Right?” she said, surprised. “People have to pinch that, it should be a rule!”

“B-booty? Nobody’s called it a fucking booty,” he said, finally straightening up and laughing harder. People actually turned to look at him. They were in Berlin, so Germans looked askance at that kind of thing. 

“C’mon, Agent Hot Stuff,” she said, taking him by the arm. “I’m pretty sure you can get arrested for excessive happiness in this country, we’ll get coffee.”

“Th--that’s okay,” Rumlow said, still laughing, “We’ll just invade Poland, that’ll get us off the hook for happiness vi--violations.”

“Oh, look you made a joke, I’m so proud,” she told him. 

“I might’ve stolen that one from Cap,” he admitted, wiping at his eyes. 

“I won’t turn you in,” she said.

 

She spent the rest of the afternoon trying to shock him into laughter again. They went to the David Hasselhoff museum. “Look, the Hoff mural has chest hair!” she announced brightly. “Can we touch it? I think we can.” Rumlow stared from her to the wall to the glued-on chest hair. “C’mon, you know you want to!” Darcy said.

 

He lost it again.

 

Next, she dragged him to a restaurant that served spaghettieis---German ice cream molded to resemble spaghetti--and convinced him to try a bite of hers. “That pasta’s weird-looking,” he said. “It’s not right.” He poked it tentatively with a fork. For a second, she thought he’d busted her.

“C’mon, try it,” Darcy said coaxingly.

“What the fuck?” he said, as she snapped a photo of his expression when he realized her “spaghetti” was actually a sundae and the red sauce and parmesan was strawberry sauce and white chocolate shavings.

“It’s ice cream,” she said cheerfully. "Wait, you don't have a strawberry allergy, do you?"

“You are a troll,” he muttered. “No allergies. But I could have." He gave her scolding look.

"Sorry, my bad," she said. He smirked.

"This is weird.”

“Have some more vanilla gelato noodle, hot stuff,” she told him. He looked at her for a split second. 

“I can’t believe you took my picture with David Hasselhoff’s chest hair and tricked me into eating this,” he said. He started snort-laughing again. She had a lot of photos of him beaming. They were pretty great.

“But I did,” she announced. 

“What tortures are you going to inflict on me next?” he asked, as they left the restaurant. “Please don’t make me touch a mural of anybody else’s chest hair.”

“We’re going to the Radisson,” she said. “For Aquadom.”

“What?” he said. “Aqua what at a hotel?”

“Don’t make it dirty. They have the world’s largest freestanding fish tank,” Darcy said. “We have to buy tickets.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Are you disappointed it’s not a sex thing?” she asked, as innocently as possible. He started to laugh again.

“Oh God,” he said, “you’re going to kill me.”

“That definitely sounds like a sex thing,” she said. He snorted. “Fourth time!” she yelled.

“Are you keeping a tab?”

“Maybe?”

 

“The aquarium’s an elevator?” Brock said, gaping, as they entered the hotel lobby at the Radisson.

“Cool, right? I read about it online,” she said. 

“Do you do that a lot?” he said, smirking.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “But it’s much more difficult to bully Jane into doing cool things with me.” She towed him towards the line with her.  

“Cool things, huh?” he said. She elbowed him.

“Don’t you scoff,” she said.

“And still this is not the weirdest elevator thing I’ve ever been on,” he said quietly, as they stood in line.

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” he said, “work thing. No big deal.” They went in, stood, and peered through the glass as the guide spoke in German and English. _“Finding Nemo?”_ Brock said, starting to laugh again. The tank had fish from the children’s cartoon. “This whole day is surreal.”

“Shhh,” Darcy said. “I loved that movie.” A minute later, she’d gone a little stiff.

“What?” he said.

“I’m a little afraid of heights,” she admitted. You could see down to the lobby through the tank as they ascended. He snorted.

“You played yourself,” Rumlow said. That was when Darcy lost it and had to muffle her giggles in his shoulder.

 

“Why are you winning this game?” he said that night. They were playing Go Fish on her hotel bed. She’d talked him into a face mask, too. He was all purple now. 

“I dunno,” Darcy lied. Hopefully, he wouldn’t catch…

“You little cheat, you marked the back of the Old Maid,” he said. “What is that?”

“Sheer glitter nail polish,” she admitted, biting her lip.

“You’re a menace,” he said, smirking. “Don’t go to Vegas.” He started to laugh again and did the little snort.

“Please, you like that about me,” she sassed back, “and that’s snort-laugh number five of the day.” She felt smug.

“I’m a happy guy,” he insisted, struggling to get control of his laughter.

“Uh-huh,” she said. “Your Murderface is purely professional? You’re a secret marshmallow?”

“Yeah,” he said, stealing one of her peanut M&Ms. “Completely.” He winked. She laughed. Was he flirting with her? It was flattering to her ego. He was super hot. Like, gorgeous face, crazy-fit body, the whole package. Plus, getting him to snort-laugh was a fun job task.

“I’ve never been to Vegas,” Darcy admitted. “Is it fun?” He scrunched his nose. 

“I might have a small gambling problem that has me banned from several casinos,” he admitted.

“Brock Rumlow!” Darcy said, laughing. 

“I get a little fixated,” he said slowly, eyeing her M&Ms. 

“Uh-huh,” she said, pulling the bag away defensively. “Mine! Mr. _I don’t eat sweets._ This is your third one today!”

“You tricked me into the first one!”

“Are you seriously blaming me because you fell off the sugarcane wagon?” she said.

“Yes, yes I am,” he said. They were still cutting up when his phone rang and he had to clear his throat to answer it. “Sir,” he said. Phil Coulson’s face appeared onscreen.

“Phil!” Darcy shrieked. “I thought you were dead!”

“Hello, Miss Lewis. No. I am not dead. Agent Rumlow---what is on your face?” Phil asked, frowning and forgoing deadpan for once.

“Uhhhh,” Rumlow said.

“Skin care!” Darcy announced. “For, you know, his overall health and whatnot.”

“Yeah,” Rumlow said. He grinned at Darcy. Onscreen Phil sighed.

“Darcy, try not to distract him, he’s your security,” Phil said. He gave Rumlow a stony look. “I thought you were mature enough for this job.”

“I--uhhh, sir,” he began.

“It’s my fault, I pinched him,” Darcy said. 

“Please don’t tell me where,” Phil said wearily. “I don’t want to know.”

“It was--” Darcy began, before Rumlow put his hand over her mouth. 

“Yes, sir,” he said, hanging up. He sighed. “I guess I should wash this off,” he added. He looked all serious again. Darcy stuck her lip out.

“No more fun?” she said.

“What if somebody tries to kidnap you?” he said.

“I don’t want to die boring, it’s my one rule,” she said.

“I thought the rule was that those were your M&Ms?” he said wryly.

“That’s the second rule,” she said. But she slid the bag back towards him. “I’ll share,” she said, smiling. “I had fun today.”

“Me, too,” he said. He stayed with her in her room, watching movies, until she got drowsy. “Figure out what crazy place you want to go for breakfast,” he said.

“Okey dokey,” she said.

 

 She was really sad when Jane and Thor came back early the next morning and he was recalled on another job. “I’ll miss your snort-laugh,” she told him, as they stood in the hotel lobby.

“You’ve got that recording,” he said teasingly. She’d taped his laugh at the Hasselhoff museum; she’d seen it in a favorite movie once, a guy who taped funny laughs as a hobby. He’d been patient with her idiosyncrasies.

“For posterity,” Darcy said, smiling at him. They were both smiling at each other. 

“Maybe we’ll run into each other,” he said. “Sometime.”

“We’ll always have the Hoff,” she joked, trying not to be a sad girl about the fact that she hadn’t at least made out with him some. She’d totally missed her window, she thought, as he gave her a gentle hug.

 

She watched him walk away, then turned around with a sigh. Jane was waiting. It was silly to get all verklempt like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> spaghettieis: https://www.atlasobscura.com/foods/spaghettieis
> 
> the hoff museum's chest hair mural: https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/david-hasselhoff-museum


	72. Man Attacked By Assistant (We'll Always Have The Hoff II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows the events of Ch. 71.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

**_Several weeks after Berlin_ **

 

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Dude! [photo]

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Hey. What is that with you?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Vigeland Sculpture Park! Bizarre, right? That one’s called Man Attacked by Babies. He’s my new favorite.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Sure. How’d did you get this number?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** I bribed someone in Archives with Starbucks dollars. Archivists everywhere love Jane.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Oh.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Are you mad?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** No. It’s great to hear from you. I haven’t snort laughed at anybody in weeks.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Good. I missed your laugh, dude. Also, I need you to help me with a prank.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Yeah. Prank?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** On Phil. I want to send Phil a case of this weird Norwegian spruce beer for not telling me he was only fake dead. I need an address. I’ll send you something, too, if you want?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** There’s such a thing as spruce beer?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Yeah, it’s actually tree tip flavored! Or Pine Sol? Depends on who you ask. It definitely reminds me of Pine Sol. 

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Jesus. Pine Sol. 

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Great, right?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Oh, don’t worry. I won’t get you the beer. I’ll get you something good.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:**   Okay. I’ll send you the address. 

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Unless you want the beer?

 

***

 **Cap Fan 1964:** I know you gave her my address, Rumlow.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Pardon?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** I don’t know what you’re referring to, Phil?

 **Cap Fan 1964:** Darcy Lewis.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Yeah? How is she?

 **Cap Fan 1964:** Shut up, you smug asshole. I have an entire case of spruce beer. It tastes like a Christmas shop clubbed me in the head.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:**   I thought it was more like those car fresheners, if you put them in a blender with an IPA.

 **Cap Fan 1964:** She sent you some?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Yeah. It keeps you from getting scurvy. I tricked Rollins into drinking some.

 **Cap Fan 1964:** What’s going on between you two?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** There’s nothing going on between me and Rollins. Barton started that rumor that we’d gotten married. Jack’s got a boyfriend. 

 **Cap Fan 1964:** Not you and Rollins, you and Darcy.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Nothing. She’s a friend.

 **Cap Fan 1964:** Since when do you have women friends?

 

**_[Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha has left SHIELDMessage…]_ **

**Cap Fan 1964:** Did you just log off? I know when I’m being avoided…

 

***

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:**   Sorry I won’t be in town while you’re here. Work-related.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** You’re gone? We just landed in DC. I’m literally in the airport. Dragging Jane’s stuff.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** As of about two minutes ago, yeah. Sorry.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** I can’t believe I missed you! What terrorist group do I need to kill?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** That’s classified, sweetheart.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Can’t I just tase them a little?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Nope.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Boo. 

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** I never get to tase anybody anymore!

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** All your fun, gone. 

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** I’ll see you on your next visit. 

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Okey dokey. 

 

**_[1 minute later]_ **

 

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** I’m still mad at the terrorists, though. 

 

***

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** You sent me a present?!

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** I try.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** OMG, I love it!

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Are you supposed to be giving out custom t-shirts with the STRIKE insignia that say “Declared SHIELD Menace since 2011”?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** The supply department helped me when they heard you’d tased Thor and pranked Phil.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** OMG, I love them.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Also, you. I love you!

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Thank you.

 

[3 minutes later]

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Did I make it weird?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** I feel like I made it weird?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Not weird.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** You gotta love me.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** I designed the t-shirt. 

  
  


***

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** [photo of hotel room window] Okay, I’m assuming it’s okay to bug you ‘cause it’s daytime in DC?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** It is. Looks nice there.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** I’m miserable.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** I have a headcold.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** I’m tired but I can’t sleep.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** I hate being alone in hotel rooms. 

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Yeah. Hotel room fatigue is real. 

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Talk to me.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** You wanna call?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Okay, fine. But I’m warning you that my phone voice is terrible, I ramble on Dayquil, and I hate talking on the phone, but I’ll probably yak your ear off because I’m all insomnia. I have overwhelm. 

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** I usually hate people who use overwhelm like that.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Overwhelm, huh?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Yes, but whatevs.

 

***

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** How are you? Been busy all week, but wanted to check in.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** It’s been wild.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** You remember my ex, right? Ian. We ran into him at a conference. 

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Yeah?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** You’re getting back together?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** No! He’s engaged to this person named Arabella. LOL. We are never, ever getting back together. [gif]

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Is that Taylor Swift?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Yes. Besides I’m in a serious committed relationship.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** What?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** With this. [photo]

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** A donut?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** You say that like I’m crazy. It’s a cake batter donut, Brock. With sprinkles. Also, this cute dog I met today, too.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Okay.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** I can feel your confusion through the phone.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** It’s not food. 

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Hush.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** The dog is cute, though. 

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Right? His name was the Swedish word for mittens. I think he’ll be my favorite boyfriend. How are your socks?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** love ‘em, sweetheart. Wearing them today. [photo]

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Yay! How’s your day?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** The socks are perfect. I’ve got fucking meetings all day.

  


***

 **Assistant Director M. Hill:** Those socks are not part of your regulation uniform.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** They were a gift, Maria.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** I can’t snub a gift.

 **Assistant Director M. Hill:** I sense Darcy Lewis.Phil told everyone you’re co-conspirators.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Maybe.

 **Assistant Director M. Hill:** What is even on them?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** This Meeting is Bullshit.

 **Assistant Director M. Hill:** Fine, don’t answer my question.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** No, that’s what’s on the socks. 

 **Assistant Director M. Hill:** That’s great for morale.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** I thought so.

 **Assistant Director M. Hill:** It’s a good thing she doesn’t live here. You might be forced to settle down.

**_[1 minute later]_ **

**Assistant Director M. Hill:** No response to that, huh?

  


****

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** OMG! Did you hear?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** What, sweetheart?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** SHIELD made Jane this huge offer. Hill called this morning. 

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** WE’RE MOVING TO DC.

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Really?

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** I’m totally stoked. Are you stoked?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Yeah. I am.

 **World’s Okayest Assistant:** Do you know what stoked means?

 **Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** Shut up, troll.

 

_**[1 minute later]** _

**Cmdr. B. Rumlow, STRIKE Alpha:** How soon will you be here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man Attacked by Babies: https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/vigeland-sculpture-park
> 
> Spruce beer: https://www.atlasobscura.com/foods/spruce-beer


	73. That’s Weird, Innit? (We'll Always Have The Hoff III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another little snippet from the same verse as Chs. 71 & 72, "We'll Always Have The Hoff," this time from a brand new POV!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

The new SHIELD headquarters was buzzing with the news of Thor’s arrival. Jack was walking by Brock’s office when he stopped. Brock was clearly doing reports. But Jack was curious about that hammer. “Don’t you know Thor?” Jack asked. “Better ‘n me, I mean?” They’d both seen the Asgardian in New York, but Thor had met him doing security for his girlfriend or something? Maybe Brock could introduce him and he could get a look at the thing….

“Huh?” Brock said, looking up. “Is he here?” His expression was alert. “They’re here?”

“Supposed to be here at eleven-thirty--” Jack began. Brock frowned.

“I haven’t gotten a text yet,” Brock said, checking his phone. “Shit. I must’ve turned the sound off during that briefing. They were in traffic ten minutes ago--” he said, standing up.

“Thor texts you?” Jack said, baffled. “I thought he didn’t have a phone.” He followed the STRIKE Commander out of the office and down the hall. Brock was moving quickly. And frowning. He stopped and Jack actually caught him fixing his hair in the reflection of a glass wall. Why was he doing that, Jack wondered? Maybe for a photo? “Do you think he’ll bring the hammer?” he asked, as they veered left down a hallway.

“What?” Brock said.

“Thor’s hammer?” Jack said helpfully.

“Yeah,” Brock said, “I’m sure he’ll bring it. Carries it everywhere.” They got to the elevator. Above them, there was a sudden roll of thunder. Jack looked up.

“Bloody hell,” he said. “Is that him?”

“Probably.” Brock’s frown deepened. “I should’ve been down there. I’m taking the stairs,” Brock said, turning on his heel. 

“You’re taking the bloody stairs for Thor?” Jack said, baffled. Brock didn’t reply; the only answer was the slam of the stairwell door. 

 

But when Jack got downstairs with several excited IT department workers, Brock was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Rumlow?” he asked Rodriguez, joining the small line that had assembled to take selfies with a cheerful and smiling Thor.

“Haven’t seen him,” Rodriguez said.

Brock didn’t appear as Jack waited in line. He didn’t appear when Thor insisted on touring the “gymnasium of the mighty warriors of SHIELD.” Or when Jack tried---and failed--to lift Mjolnir. Rumlow was MIA when Thor stayed to regale them with tales of battle, too. 

It was weird.  

 

Jack was walking back to the STRIKE offices, still puzzled, when he heard a sound from the break room. Someone was talking. “And so, I yell, ‘Jane! Cross walk! Cross walk!’ But she is all deep in science and about a block ahead of me because of her speedwalking while thinking problem and I swear to God, had this Norwegian woman not reached out and grabbed her coat, I would be unemployed today--” an animated female voice was saying.

Jack heard Brock next. “C’mon, you’re making that up. Jane, is that true?” he said. There was a pause. “Jane?” he repeated, slightly louder.

“Huh?” a different voice said. “Did someone speak to me?” Jack recognized the voice as that of Thor’s famous scientist girlfriend. She had been profiled on television. That must be where Brock had been, he realized, helping Thor’s girlfriend. They must be close friends. 

“Yes!” the first voice said, dissolving into giggles. 

“Oh,” Jane said. “What did I do?” There was a volley of laughter and then Jack heard a weird, high-pitched laugh he’d never heard before. The person laughing actually snorted. Very weird, Jack reflected, wondering who the fourth person was as he went back to his office, stepping past the door. He almost stopped--Brock was beaming so widely it startled Jack. 

“Jack!” Brock called out. “Get in here!” He gestured.

“Hello,” Jack said, moving into the break room. Jane Foster was sitting at the small table. Brock was leaning against the counter with a second woman, a brunette in glasses. He looked around for a fourth person, but saw no one. Puzzled, he turned to Brock.

“This is Jane Foster--” Brock began.

“I’ve read about your work,” Jack said politely.

“Oh my God, Jane, listen to his adorable accent,” the other woman said in a lively voice. “Will you record an outgoing voicemail message for us?” she asked Jack.

“This is her assistant, Darcy Lewis,” Brock said, smiling again. He put his arm on her shoulder.

“An outgoing message?” Jack said.

“We do funny ones,” Jane said.

"They're great," Brock said, like he'd heard them. How was that possible?

“He could do _Foster’s, it’s Australian for Science!,_ wouldn’t that be great?” Darcy said. That was when Brock started to laugh. It was a sound that Jack hadn’t heard before. As he watched, stunned, Brock actually snorted. “I missed your snort laugh, Brock,” Darcy said, bumping his shoulder affectionately.

Jack stared. This was entirely too confusing. “You’re the weird laugher?” he said to Brock. 

“See, everyone thinks your laugh is fun,” Darcy said.

“I’ve never heard it before,” Jack said.

"Oooh, ooh," Darcy said, pointing at Jack, "this is new information!"

"It's no big deal," Brock said, grinning widely and actually looking bashful. He scrunched his nose and Darcy playfully swatted at him.

"Liar!" she said. 

"I'm not," Brock said, laughing again. They were looking at each other.

Jack looked at Jane Foster. She shrugged and tapped her pen on the notebook in front of her. Jack leaned down. Scrawled in crazy handwriting at the bottom was a single line: _I don't think they know yet._

Jane winked at him.

"Oh," Jack said. "Oh." She nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration gifs for that last scene:
> 
> Darcy:  
>   
> Brock:  
> 


	74. Pinball (We'll Always Have The Hoff IV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows chs. 71, 72, & 73\. Darcy's POV.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! This is just a little snippet I wrote during the hurricane. Things I learned during Dorian:
> 
> 1\. Baby Shark Cereal= v. good, you should try it. There's edible glitter-fetti and little round marshmallows, it's cool.  
> 2\. That whooshing sound of the a/c, lights, etc. coming back on after a flicker and a minute off? Most loveliest sound in the universe.  
> 3\. No surprise quite like the surprise of wheeling into your bathroom and finding a big ol' green frog just sheltering in place. How'd he get in? Nobody knows. Did I almost pee my pants? YES.

“You, uh, want to grab some pizza after work and I can corral some guys to help you move?” Brock said to her and Jane.

“That would be really nice,” Darcy said, feeling herself blush. He’d been so friendly: introducing them to people, chatting with Jane, touching her. The last one had sent her heart racing.

“Yeah?” he said. Brock smiled at her. He had such a great smile. Ugh! She was going to die of this crush. She was crushed. Metaphorically and physically. It was difficult to breathe with him in break room proximity. Darcy felt like she couldn’t get full breaths with him doing that smile at her, just inches away. Her lungs were all squish because her heart was bouncing around in her chest like a pinball.  _ Ping  _ went her her heart, and she could have sworn next it was skidding around to the opposite side of her chest and back again. Her heartbeat was definitely off.  _ Ping--ping--ping. _

“Very nice,” Jane said, standing up. “Sounds like a great plan. But I think I need to get back to the lab before Fury realizes we’ve been catching up.” She gathered her notebooks carefully. “We don’t have that much stuff, so the four of us could probably handle it.”

“Jane travels light, I’m the junky one,” Darcy said, then wanted to take it back.

“She’s not junky, she just collects little things,” Jane said, jumping to Darcy’s defense.

“She does that when I put myself down,” Darcy said, pulling a face.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. His expression had turned serious.

“Well, okay,” Darcy said. She was going to move past him when he surprised her. 

“Hey, c’mere,” he said and held his arms out for a hug. He wanted to hug her? Darcy awkwardly shuffled into his arms, unable to hold in a tiny nervous giggle. She expected a brief, cursory squeeze. Instead, he wrapped his arms--warm, strong, entirely too appealing--around her tightly. He was very muscular. She could swear she actually felt his abs through his t-shirt. Also, he was warm and he smelled really good. Like good soap. All clean. Her pinball heart sped up and she thought she might’ve won a game from the ringing in her ears. She sighed against his neck. He rubbed her back. Darcy was really enjoying herself when she realized Jane was already in the doorway. She raised an eyebrow at Darcy. 

“Ready?” Jane said.

“Yeah,” Darcy said, detaching herself reluctantly from Brock. She looked at him. “You, uh, smell great. Clean. And great.” She was babbling and blushing.

“Yeah?” he said, grinning at her.  _ Oh God, she thought, he thinks I’m a complete idiot.  _ “Let’s hope I still smell all right when I’m carrying your stuff,” he said. “Meet you out front at five-thirty?”

“Great,” Jane said.

“Yu-yeah,” Darcy stuttered. She’d sort of mentally blanked out when he used the phrase  _ carrying your stuff. _

“I’m so excited to see the new equipment,” Jane said cheerfully, as Darcy looked back at Brock. He’d been going in the other direction, but she realized he’d looked back, too. She gave him a little wave goodbye and immediately felt like an idiot. He was rubbing his jaw like he couldn’t believe he was friends with such a dork. Oh man, she’d messed up. Oh man. Already!

Darcy’s nerves were humming like she’d been tased as she walked back to their new lab with Jane. Was it possible that Brock had gotten handsomer since Berlin? She didn’t know that was a thing someone could do, magically get more handsome when they were already yummy. But he seemed even more appealing: his thick, dark hair was even longer on top...and that five o’clock shadow...his tan…. his arms in that t-shirt.  _ God, her brain thought, he’s totally hot! And out of your league, a nagging voice in her head supplied. You’ve never attracted anyone who looks like that. Ever.  _ “Hmmmmfph,” Darcy said, accidentally vocalizing her conflicted mental state.

“You okay?” Jane said, looking over.

“Jet lag,” Darcy lied. She had been carefully keeping her dilemma from Jane. Jane didn’t know how she really felt about Brock. She pretended he was “just a friend” whenever she talked about him in the lab. It was strategic. Darcy thought that Jane would freak out, given her feelings about SHIELD and research theft and the general issue of Brock’s work role being maybe too jack-booted, even if Brock hadn’t technically been one of the guys who’d seized their laptops back in the day. The scientist could be stubborn. It was startling that they were even here. Darcy had been surprised and thrilled when Jane had taken the DC job. Also, Darcy didn’t even know what this thing between her and Brock was. It wasn’t like she was brave enough to ask him out. For once in her life, she was a little chicken. She’d come up with the excuse of getting Phil’s address for a fun prank, yes, but she’d also been constantly thinking about Brock after Berlin. Like an obsessive. It was a crazy crush. And then they’d actually become friendly. Now she didn’t know to interpret anything. What if he didn’t think about her romantically? Maybe he only dated women with, like, visible ab muscles and perfectly straight, shiny hair? She sighed.

Also, she was totally afraid she’d, like, put her hands all over him the first time she was a little buzzed and he was in proximity. Two margaritas and she would be in his lap. What if he didn’t want a lap Darcy?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Jane asked. “Nothing on your mind?” 

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Darcy said, thinking about Brock’s biceps around her arms. 

She was so not okay.


	75. Kiss Proof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Winchesterxgirl, inspired by longwear lipstick mishaps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Oh my God, it’s been a  _ day,  _ babe,” Darcy announced, as she walked into their shared apartment. Brock leaned around the kitchen wall to yell towards the front door. 

“You want a drink?” he asked. She’d worked late with Jane, obviously. That wasn’t unusual. 

“Wine, please!” He heard Darcy drop her messenger bag with a thump. 

“Yes,” he said, grinning. “I could take you to dinner?” Her house keys jangled as she hung them on the hook he’d done for her. He grabbed a wine glass and poured from a bottle already in the fridge.

“I love my key hook,” she announced, seeming to read his mind. “Ugh, you’re great, but I am so sick of people. We had a bunch of SHIELD scientists in for an interdepartmental program today and I had to keep Jane from biting them.” Her voice drifted down the hallway. He followed it as he carried the glass. His first glimpse of her was Darcy--already shirtless--trying to unhook her bra. “Mother-freaking-bra--” she was muttering. But his attention was arrested by the slash of something reddish right under the hook.

“Honey,” he said, setting down the wine glass hurriedly on the dresser. “You’re hurt!”

“What?” Darcy said, trying to turn her head and wobbling a little. He caught her around to waist to stabilize her.

“You’re bleeding,” Brock said, frowning. “It looks like dried blood.”

“Where?” she said. He turned her back towards the mirror.

“There,” he said, frowning. “Is it a cut? I don’t see anything embedded--” Darcy looked over her shoulder. And then she started to laugh.

“Oh my God,” she said, giggling. “I’m fine! I’m fine!” 

“What?”

“It’s my lipstick,” she said, between laughs. “I was swatching a new red one today and I must’ve gotten some off my hand onto my back when I put my bra on.”

“Lipstick?” he said, rubbing his thumb over the streak. “It’s not budging.”

“It’s a longwear,” she said, smiling at him. “Wet n Wild Bad Girl’s Club,” she said in a teasing voice. “Supposed to be kiss proof, too.”

“Really?” he said, feeling the shift in his body now that the alarm was over. He grinned at her. “I don’t know which part of that I’m supposed to respond to, sweetheart.”

“And here I thought you would be interested in the kiss proof part,” she said jokingly.

“Let’s see about that, huh?” Brock said. He knelt down and kissed the streak across her back. He felt her suck in a breath and then sigh as he flicked his tongue across it. She hmm’d. He pulled away slightly. “You wanna stay in tonight?” he asked. “Maybe order some pizza and test out all the technical specs on this lipstick?”

“I love you,” she said. 


	76. She Totally Wants Me Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous requested a Darcy's ex POV + happily together Taserbones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“So,” Ian said. “Still Jane’s assistant?” He’d run into Darcy at a DC science event. Jane was giving a talk. He’d expected to see Jane. He hadn’t expected to see Darcy sitting in the audience. The same Darcy who’d dumped him after an on-off relationship of almost five years. That she’d been the one to end it finally still irked. He’d merely asked for space! She’d given him all of Europe.

“Yup,” Darcy said. They were filing out after the talk ended. “We’re based in DC now.”

“Oh yeah?” Ian said. Darcy looked much the same, only her hair was wavier than he remembered. He looked at her hand. No wedding ring. “Still single?” he cracked. “Miss me?”

She gave him a look. It was a decidedly bothered look. She must miss him, Ian thought. That much was obvious.

“Actually,” she said, smiling breezily, “I’m seeing someone. It’s pretty serious.”

“Oh yeah? Wonderful,” Ian said. 

 

Clearly, a lie.

  
  


He ran into her again at a coffee shop a day later. “Darce,” he said. She looked up from her phone. 

“Oh, hello,” she said.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” he asked, smiling. 

“I didn’t,” she said. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“Yeah?”

“My boyfriend, actually,” she said.

“The boyfriend? Right.” He nodded politely. “Mind if I join you?”

“Sure,” she said. Her smile was almost canny. She totally wanted him back, Ian realized, beaming at her. He pulled out a chair.

“I’m working on the most fascinating project,” he told her and began talking. He was sure there was absolutely no boyfriend.

 

Ian was talking about his latest project when a shadow fell over the table. “I’m ten minutes late and you replaced me, sweetheart?” a rough voice said from behind Ian. He jerked and almost spilled his coffee. Darcy laughed.

“Don’t you remember Ian from London, babe?” Darcy said, smiling. “He was the other intern. Brock is a SHIELD agent.”

“A SHIELD agent?” Ian stuttered. He looked at the intimidating, dark-haired man who gazed down at him in the cafe chair. The man crossed his arms. Tattooed, terrifyingly beefy arms. He had a gun, too.

“Actually,” he said, tilting his head, “I run a run a STRIKE unit with Captain America and the Black Widow.” His smile was shark-like. Ian felt a bead of sweat slide down his back. 

“Well,” Ian said. “I should probab--”

“Ian was just telling me about his latest project,” Darcy supplied. She was smiling brightly now. “Why don’t you tell Brock, Ian?”

“I love science,” the SHIELD agent told Ian. “I spent the morning reviewing a forensics report about bullet wounds.” He did one of those terrifying smiles again. Then he pulled an empty chair around next to Darcy and sat down. He slid an arm around her and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Have I told you that you’re gorgeous today?” he asked Darcy.

“Yes, but tell me again,” she said, nuzzling him. Ian's stomach sank. He chuckled and turned to face Ian again.

“So, pal, tell me about your project,” Brock said.

“Well, it really is fascinating,” Ian said, swallowing nervously. Somehow, he had more difficulty talking with this man looking at him. He’d been going off on nervous tangents--and Dear God, why was he laughing in that weird way?--and stammering his way through a complex explanation when Darcy clearly decided to show him mercy. She cleared her throat.

“Babe,” she purred at Brock, “I think we need to go back to work.”

“Yeah,” he said, checking his watch. “We gotta go, Braithewaite.”

“Boothby,” Ian said.

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Brock said, helping Darcy to her feet. “You think we’ve got time to fool around in Foster’s supply closet before my briefing, sweetheart?” Darcy laughed. 

“He’s impossible to resist,” she said, as Brock squeezed her hip, “but it was nice seeing you, Ian!” 

 

He watched as the agent towed her towards a dark SUV. They were both laughing as if they’d shared a joke.

 

“So much for wanting me back,” Ian muttered. Was he the joke?


	77. Temp Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just one I wrote for me! All my fave things: confetti, vanilla perfume, Pirate's Booty, Rumlow....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Lewis, I need you,” Rumlow announced, strolling into she and Jane’s new lab at SHIELD. Jane was away on vacation.

“Pardon me?” Darcy said, raising an eyebrow. Rumlow tilted his head. He gave her one of his patented cryptic STRIKE boss looks. Then he smirked slowly.

“I’m not picking you up, kid,” he said. 

“Oh really,”  Darcy said.

“I’m here on SHIELD business,” he said, planting his tactical boots firmly. They were distractingly clunky. He smirked again and held a hand level with his chest. “And you gotta be this tall to ride this ride.”

“Bite me,” Darcy scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Is that any way to talk to your new boss? You’re supporting my STRIKE team while Foster’s out of this realm,” he said. “Starting tomorrow morning. My office, eight am.”

“Great,” Darcy said. Jane never made Darcy be there before nine am.

“Don’t forget to bring your lunchbox, kid,” he snarked, then wheeled around to leave. She watched him go, then sighed.

 

“I do not want to play with the neanderthals for three weeks,” Darcy said out loud, groaning.   

  
  


A tired and grumpy Darcy arrived at 7:58am, toting her Scooby Doo lunchbox. She’d brought it just to fuck with Rumlow. He looked up as she knocked on the slightly-open door. “Lewis,” he said, “come in, have a seat.” He put his arms behind his head and looked at her as she sat in the chair in front of his desk. There were elaborate tattoos on the undersides of his biceps. She tried not to be distracted by how muscular he was in his t-shirt.

“Well?” she said, sitting her lunchbox in her lap, like she was Grace Kelly or something and it was a fancy handbag from Paris.

“Scooby Doo, huh?”

“I’m a big fan,” she said. 

“You wanted to live in a van?” he asked.

“It’s the show that taught me all ghosts and monsters are usually just old white men after money,” she sassed back. He laughed. 

“You aren’t wrong,” he said. Then he stretched his arms up. “You stretch?” he asked, catching her eye.

“Not as a public activity,” she snarked. He grinned.

“Bad habit,” he said. “So”--he rested his arms on the desk--”what I need you to do is manage our equipment orders, make sure everyone completes their checklists--”

“Checklists?”

“My team,” he said, “are very carefully instructed to log in all their equipment after missions, so we can reorder anything lost or used in the field and they go out with a full kit on the next mission. I considered that a top-tier fucking priority, so you can harass the shit out of them if they flunk, you understand?”

“A get out of jail free card, huh?” Darcy asked.

“Exactly,” He smirked again.

 

Darcy was not going to let Rumlow catch her slacking off, but she also wanted teach him a lesson for being stupid enough to make short jokes and then give her a get out of jail free card and the combinations to all the lockers. So, her first post-checklist equipment evaluation was followed up with some very special notifications to his STRIKE team. It took a while, but it was fun to fill the lockers of the guys’ who’d forgotten to correctly log their equipment with a few balloons and tape a confetti bag behind each of the locker doors, rigged so it would tear when the door opened. 

 

That would probably piss off Rumlow, she thought.

  
  


On Tuesday morning, she was running down to the equipment loading bay when she was paged over the PA system. “Darcy Lewis to the STRIKE Alpha offices, Darcy Lewis to the STRIKE Alpha offices,” a smooth voice said. Darcy turned around her handtruck and smiled apologetically at the nearest agent.

“I might be in trouble,” she said. She strolled casually into their locker room. Rumlow was standing in the middle of the room, his back to her. In front of him were three agents. He was talking to them in a quiet voice about equipment safety. They had confetti on their shoulders and in their hair. They were very carefully looking at their feet as Rumlow talked calmly.  A stray balloon drifted to the ceiling. She looked up. The rest bobbed above. Darcy had attached long pieces of ribbon to them. She reached up and grabbed a few. A passing agent got her another.

“Here you go, ma’am,” he said.

“Thank you,” she said politely. At the sound of her voice, a frowning Rumlow turned.

“Lewis,” he said, “a word?”

“Mmmm-hhhm,” she said brightly. “Lead the way, Commander.” She made sure the last word was slightly sarcastic. They went to his office. He gestured for her to sit down first and then shut the door. She raised an eyebrow. He smirked.

“Good job,” he said, moving to his desk.

“What?”

“You did exactly the kind of thing I thought you’d do. I was thinking there’d be air horns--” he said.

“Ear damage,” Darcy said, “I read an article where it messed up a teenage girl’s hearing permanently, so those are all out.”

“Yeah?” he said. “Permanent damage?”

“Loud sounds make her ears hurt and she has horrible headaches,” Darcy said. “It’s sad.”

“No shit,” he said. He shook his head. “So, what’s the next thing?”

“The next thing?”

“Prank,” he said, grinning. “You can’t just have one.”

“You actually want me to do this?” she asked. “Prank your agents?”

“Only when they fuck up.” At her quizzical look, he added, “I’m sick of yelling at people, Lewis. This is memorable enough that people will do their checklists and nobody’s feelings get really hurt.”

“Or they’re just pissed at me?” she said.

“Possibly,” he said, putting his hands together. He smirked. “But they ain’t gotta cover your ass in the field, so it’s harmless.”

“Oh dear God, I’m the Huckleberry,” Darcy said. “You set me up to take the hit, Wyatt Earp!”

“You like that movie?” he asked. “I love that movie.”

“I have a Val Kilmer thing,” she admitted. “I blame  _ Real Genius.” _ He grinned.

“What about popcorn in the lockers?” he said.

“Oh my God, you’re a troll!” Darcy said. He started to laugh. She stared at his beaming face and when he stopped laughing, he looked at her cannily. “What?” she said.

“You wanna have dinner with me in, say, two weeks?” Rumlow said.

“You’re hitting on your temp,” Darcy told him.

“Is it working?” he asked. She stood up. 

“Nope. I still haven’t forgotten that short joke!” she said, going to the door. She was marching down the hallway when he leaned out of the door.

“What it we put something in your shoes?” he called out. “That’d make you taller!” Laughing, she turned around and flipped him off. Several passing agents stared, but Rumlow cracked up.

“What, like those big freaking boots you wear ‘cause you gotta stand next to Rollins?” she yelled back. The way he mimed being hit in the chest was funny. But she wasn’t going to admit it. Or that his popcorn idea wasn’t terrible. She would just substitute those biodegradable peanuts or golf balls for popcorn. She wasn’t an animal. And Fury would be mad if they ended up with an ant problem. 

  
  


Darcy was leaving work that afternoon when she stopped in her tracks. “Holy Shih Tzu!” she said out loud. Someone had pranked her car in the parking deck. They’d tied cans to the back, covered the body of the car in silly string, and there was a sign.   
  
_ WELCOME TO STRIKE ALPHA. _

 

Darcy snapped a photo with her phone for Jane, then called Rumlow. He arrived five minutes later, tilted his head, and smirked. “They like you, Lewis,” he said. “You want to have that dinner now?”

“Did you set this up?” she said.

“No, this is probably Collins,” he said, holding his arms up in surrender pose. They were good arms, she thought. Darcy sighed. 

“Okay, sure,” she said. His expression when he’d seen the car had seemed realistically surprised. 

“You like Chinese?” he asked.

“I’m saying I believe you, not that I want to suck face with you, my dude. Besides, I’m still your temp,” she said. She took the signs and cans off and handed them to him. 

“Just for two more weeks, Shortstack,” he said, opening her car door with the sign tucked under his arm. She gave him a look. He winked. 

 

She made sure he had his back to her--cans dragging on the concrete--when she checked him out. Just for, you know, future reference. She wasn’t actually going to go out with him, she thought, as she started her car. He’d be impossibly smug. Probably tell everybody she’d chased him. Something like that. She was so engrossed in mentally recreating a version of Rumlow telling, say, Clint Barton at a party that she’d chased him all over SHIELD that she almost didn’t see a car backing out of a parking space. “Ahhh!” Darcy shrieked, as she hit the brakes. The person in the car waved apologetically. “Dagnabbit,” she muttered, “Jane, get back from space before I crash my car or sleep with Rumlow.”

  
  


The next week passed quietly. Darcy did need to do the locker trick one more time--she filled the offending agent’s locker with ball pit balls--but she got a smile from everyone on the team. Except Rumlow. He was resolutely frowning when she saw him in SHIELD’s cafeteria at lunch. Sore loser, she thought, typical. He moved over to her table. “Did you steal my insoles?” he said.

“What?” Darcy said.

“My shoe inserts, they’re orthopedic,” he said. “I need ‘em. I rolled my ankle a year ago on a landing. They don’t make me taller.”

“Nooooo,” Darcy said. “I don’t have your shoe things, I swear. That wasn’t me.”

“It wasn’t?”

“Nope.”

“If you’re fucking with me--” he began.

“No,” she said firmly. They stared at each other for a second. 

“Shit,” he said. He looked over his shoulder at the team in line. “If it’s not you, it’s them. Shit.”

“Look what you started,” Darcy singsonged.

“Fuck,” he muttered. “Shit.”

“We can get them back,” she said. “And find the culprit.”

“How?” he said. Rumlow was frowning.

“Make an announcement that you need them back and the culprit can return them to your locker,” she said. “We’ll do a stakeout.”

  
  


“How the fuck does this count as a stakeout?” Rumlow said, sitting in Darcy’s car.

“Drone camera from Keith in tactical supplies. I put in the locker room today, it’s stationary,” Darcy said, sitting sideways in the driver’s seat with an unopened bag of Pirate’s Booty in her lap. She handed him the controls with the camera. “Pirate’s Booty?”

“What? No,” he said.

“And here I thought you wanted some booty,” she teased. He wasn’t paying attention, she thought. He was frowning at the screen.

“This ain’t good enough,” he said. “I wanna catch the guy.”

“You’re very intense--” she said, as he opened the car door. “Hold on, my snacks,” Darcy said, wiggling to follow him. “Slow down!” she called. “You walk too fast when you’re mad!” She gathered her things, muttering. “This is too much like a stakeout with Jane.”

 

They ended up hiding in a closet in the locker room. “This is ridiculous,” Darcy told him. His abdomen was against her back. It was a very small closet. 

“You smell like marshmallows,” he said, sniffling. “Do you have marshmallows in that bag?”

“No,” she said. “That’s just my perfume. It’s marshmallow-y vanilla. Outremer Vanille.” 

“Oh,” he said. They were both quiet. 

“I wish I had marshmallows now, though,” Darcy said. “I saw these cookie dough ones at the grocery store, I wanna try ‘em--”

“Shhh, I think I hear something,” he said, clapping a warm hand over her mouth. There were footsteps outside. He pushed the door open a fraction, then stopped. Darcy felt Rumlow’s alertness fade away. The footsteps receded. “Janitor,” he said. “Why are you all sticky?”

“Lipgloss,” she said. He chuckled. 

“Uh-huh,” he said.

“It has Captain America and it is red, white, and blueberry,” she said, offended. “It’s patriotic.”

“Is it for little children?” he asked.

“Maybe,” she admitted.

“You smell good,” he said suddenly. 

“Are you hitting on me in a closet?” Darcy said.

“Maybe,” he said. “You mind?”

“Maybe,” she said, but she couldn’t keep her voice serious and giggled. He wrapped an arm around her waist.

“Lewis,” he said, grinning against her ear. 

 

They were making out when the insoles thief stepped into the locker room. Neither of them noticed until he left. “Shit,” Rumlow said, when the door slammed. He pushed the closet door open. “I think we just missed him!”

“Well, go chase him!” Darcy said. Rumlow looked between her and the door. 

“Stay here,” he said. Then he took off. She took the opportunity to re-button her shirt and check the camera.

“Totally Collins,” she said, grinning at the figure on the drone screen. “I wonder if Rumlow will catch him?” She checked Rumlow’s locker. He’d returned the insoles. She deleted the video on the drone and waited. Rumlow came back a few minutes later. “You get him?” Darcy asked. 

“No,” he said grimly. “Asshole just disappeared.”

“He returned them, whoever he was,” Darcy said. Innocently. She wasn’t a snitch. She’d just wanted an excuse to go on a stakeout with Rumlow. Suss him out a little, see if they were compatible. He sat down next to her on the bench and sighed. Then he looked at her. His frown turned into a grin.

“You kissed me.”

“Yup.”

“You want to go kiss me somewhere more fun?” he asked.

“Put your insoles back in first,” she chided.

“Sure,” he said cheerfully.

“We’re going to need to keep this secret for a week,” she said.

“We can do it,” he said. “I was undercover for years.”

She was giggling and making puns about his undercover skills--Rumlow was looking smug---as they stepped out of the parking deck elevator. “What the fuck?” Rumlow said, as they saw her car.

 

A note was taped to the windshield:  _ All of STRIKE Alpha knows what you did in the closet. _

 

Rumlow scrambled for his phone. “Somebody sent an anonymous text to the whole team saying we were having sex in a closet,” he said in a dull voice.

“We’re busted,” Darcy said. Internally, she wondered if she should’ve snitched on Collins.

“Motherfucker,” Rumlow said. “How’d they know?”

“We didn’t even  _ have  _ sex,” Darcy groused. Rumlow looked at her.

“You wanna?” he said, grinning.

“Not in a closet!” she said. “Or my car. You’re very moody, but the way.”

“I’m not moody, I’m flexible,” he said. 

“Uh huh.”

“You wanna see how flexible?” he said.

“First, you’re getting me food,” she told him. “You stepped on my Pirate’s Booty with your clunky boots and I’m hungry.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he said, smirking.

  
  



	78. Steak Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompy for winchesterxgirl, based on this image: https://66.media.tumblr.com/1bcb3c2ef324307b25fbcbfcdd25368a/tumblr_messaging_pxlicevAK21qj6crv_640.jpg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“This is a terrible idea, Romanoff,” Jack Rollins said from inside the van. Natasha didn’t acknowledge that the Australian former triple agent had spoken. Her eyes were glued to the monitor. Inside the restaurant, Darcy Lewis was sitting at a table with their suspect. A black market dealer. She had agreed to be his fake blind date. They thought he might drop a briefcase full of Chitauri weaponry for a buyer in the mens’ room. Where Captain America was currently waiting. “Is no one going to bloody acknowledge when I speak?” Jack asked in frustration. He was worried about Lewis’s safety. She wasn’t--not technically--cleared for this work, but she was an enthusiastic volunteer. She’d helped hack the suspect’s tinder so she’d be his only match for the meet they’d picked up information about. The man needed a date as a decoy, they’d heard him say so when they’d bugged his phone. They had all they needed to arrest him. But Fury demanded they get the weapons back, too. 

“Nope,” Steve said. “Sit tight, Rollins.” Jack groaned and rubbed his face.

“Everything will be fine,” Nat told him. “Clint and Steve are near here.”

“Very reassuring,” Jack said wryly.

 

“So, what will you be having tonight, folks?” Clint Barton asked cheerfully. He was their fake waiter for the night. The man didn’t let Darcy speak.

“She’ll have the club salad and I’ll have the steak,” he announced. Darcy was momentarily flummoxed and rolled her eyes at Clint. “So, Sheryl--,” he said, as a laughing Clint slipped away.

“It’s Stephanie,” Darcy corrected. They’d given her a fake name.

“Right,” he said, smiling in an oily way. Then he started talking about himself again. It was all she could do not to make faces.

 

She was eating that club salad--she didn’t even like club salad!--when he got a call that left him looking alarmed. He left abruptly. “He didn’t drop the weapons,” Steve said over comms, sounding weary.

“But he definitely dropped the check!” Darcy hissed. “His steak was seventy dollars!”

“He stiffed you with the bill, Itty Bitty?” Clint said, from inside the kitchen. He started to laugh again.

“Asshole,” Darcy muttered.

“Language, Darce,” Steve said back.

“Never mind the steak, what about the guns?” Jack asked.

“We’ll reschedule,” Nat said smoothly.

“I have to do this again?” Darcy wailed. 

  


Their second date wasn’t going to go that way, Darcy decided. She didn’t know the agent working as their waiter tonight. It was a dark haired guy who looked like a model. But she’d caught him glancing over casually, as if he was checking to refill their waters. The arms guy was going on and on about himself when the agent appeared at his elbow. “Ready to order?” he said. Darcy jumped in.

“He’ll have the club salad and I’ll have the steak,” she said brightly. The agent-slash-waiter actually smirked. It was hot, if a little snarky. Her fake date looked stunned. Once the waiter disappeared, he excused himself to go to the bathroom and Darcy mentally prepared herself.

 

Two seconds after the mens’ room door swung shut, Darcy heard the distinctive sound of Cap’s shield hitting the wall. _Thump. Thwack. Wham._

 

She watched Steve bring him out of the mens’ room and then reached for her purse. “Hey,” her waiter said, “where you going, Lewis?”

“I was going to pay the check,” she said.

“I’m not talking about the check, I’m talking about the food,” he said. He had their plates. He set them down, then tossed his waiter’s apron over the back of the other chair and sat down himself. 

“What?” Darcy said.

“You wanna split this steak with me?” he asked, smiling at her.

“Like a date?” she said, feeling a little stunned herself. He was good-looking. Really good looking.

“Yeah,” he said, smirking again. Oh no, she thought.

“This is awkward. I don’t even know your name,” she confessed.

“Rumlow. Brock Rumlow,” he said.

“That’s your real name?” Darcy said, then clapped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“I think I can forgive you, sweetheart,” he said. “But it’ll cost you.” He winked. Darcy found herself grinning back.

“Sure it will,” she sassed. "You can start me a tab." He laughed then.

  


“Oh bloody hell,” Rollins said over comms in Darcy’s ear. “Did you just pick her up, mate?”

 


	79. floating is what you do (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> follows ch. 44: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699337/chapters/45763234

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Where you going, mate?” Rollins said, when Brock passed him on his way downstairs. They were headed in opposite directions. It was Friday night. Rollins was leaving and Rumlow appeared to be heading for the subbasement adjacent to the parking garage exit. The one with the special facility. Rollins could hear it humming faintly. 

“Shh,” Brock said, when he turned and saw Rollins. He tapped his nose. “Got a date tonight, Jack,” he said, smirking. “Fury doesn’t know I’m here.” The sign on the door in front of him said restricted. 

“He doesn’t want you here,” Rollins said. Brock shrugged.

“He’ll come around,” he told Jack. Rollins sighed and  looked at his other hand.

“Goldfish crackers?” he said. “You’re bringing Darcy those?”

“I’m hoping she thinks they’re funny,” Rumlow said, grinning. “She’s got a great sense of humor.”

“Please don’t get bloody suspended, I don’t want to do your job and mine,” Jack said. 

“Sure,” Brock said. A moment later, the restricted door swung shut.

 

 Brock had disappeared.

 

Jack sighed and left the building. Rumlow was his own man, he reminded himself. He had survived HYDRA undercover work, his Triskelion burns, even a stint as a fake mercenary called Crossbones stealing back lost SHIELD equipment, and had finally returned to full duty with the help of Cho’s famous Cradle. So maybe now he was a bit touched in the head? Jack reminded himself that he ought to be more loyal. And he couldn’t be hurt. Not really. It was just strange, his new fascination.

  


“Sweetheart?” Brock called softly. The room was dark. In front of him, the tank loomed, tall and full of blue-colored water. They’d ordered in one from the Baltimore aquarium and filled it with fresh water. It was a depressing place, he thought. The floor always seemed slightly damp and the night lights were so dim that it was eerie. “You here?” he called. Of course she was here, she couldn’t go anywhere. But he wanted to treat her normally. In the gloom, he heard a faint splash and a giggle. Somewhere to his right. He peered up at the top of the tank. Sometimes, she liked to flick water on him. No Darcy.

“No, I left!” a voice called out. She was farther away. She sounded like she was in a good mood, he thought. That was good. He worried about her moods. She’d seemed down when he snuck in yesterday. 

“You hidin’ from me, baby?” he yelled, slightly louder. “I brought you a surprise.” 

He heard another happy sound.  

“A surprise?” 

“Yeah,” he said, walking around the edge of the tank towards her voice. He followed the sound to the other side of the room where a small platform edged the tank. He stopped a few feet away. They’d changed it. Foster must be working here now, he realized. There was her usual gear--whiteboard, notebooks, texts--on a table. Plus pillows and blankets and a strand of twinkle lights and photos tacked to the nearest wall.  He smiled. She’d won her battle with Fury to relocate closer to Darcy and make the place more homey. “Jane’s with you now?” he called out. He half turned towards the tank and was greeted by a splash of water. “Hey!” he sputtered. “You’re going to ruin your surprise!”

 

When he’d wiped the water off his face, he could see her for the first time. Darcy was leaning her chin over the edge of the tank. She grinned at him.

“Is the surprise that you were having a good hair day?” she cracked. 

“No,” he said, grinning back and brushing the wet hair off his forehead. “I mean, yeah, it looked great when I got here, baby. I’m sad you missed it,” he teased. “But I brought you a snack.” He brought it from behind his back.

“Goldfish crackers?” she said, laughing. “You troll.” 

“You like ‘em?”

“I love them, bring them up to me,” she said, turning to swim towards the platform. 

 

Her iridescent tail shimmered behind the glass of the tank. 

 

“We’ve got a little time by ourselves before Jane gets back,” she told him. He’d moved the pillows and stuff so he could lay closer to her in the tank. At this side, she had a step to sit on. He watched as she ate her goldfish and one of the Diet Cokes that Jane had left in the mini fridge.

“She’s sleeping here?” he said, frowning.

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said. “She told Fury it was creepy, me being here alone.”

“She doesn’t know I’ve been here?” he asked. 

“Not all night, no,” Darcy said. “She’s a little pissed at SHIELD right now, babe, she doesn’t want to hear about how cute your butt is or how smitten I am.” He rolled over on his elbow and smiled at her lazily. 

“You just don’t want to clarify what we’ve been up to,” he teased. 

“Did you get the IT guy to delete the footage?” she said. “I could do it, if I had access to the right networks--”

“Don’t worry, nobody knows I’ve been skinnydipping in your tank,” he said. 

“Pfffht, I don’t care, I’m just bored,” she said. “I’m dyyyiiiing of boredom, Brock.” He sat up and reached for his boot laces.

“I’ll go swimming with you, sweetheart,” he said, smirking. “Can’t be bored then.”

“Yeah,” she said. Then she sighed. He stopped and dipped his fingers under her chin. 

“What’s wrong?” he said, stroking her gently. She was a little damp there even. Her long hair clung wet to the tops of her shoulders and the t-shirt she had on over a bathing suit top. It said, "I Can't Run, I'm a Mermaid." She scrunched her nose. “That’s cute,” he said.

  
“What?”

“That face,” he said, leaning over to kiss her. She gave him a soft answering kiss. Not her usual. Normally, she was all eagerness--fingers in his hair, tongue in his mouth, greedy noises, and breasts pressed against him. This was almost polite. He frowned. “You’re down,” he said.

“I just want to go somewhere,” she said. “You know? I haven’t been anywhere in weeks.”

“You been some places,” he joked.

“In your pants doesn’t count, Brock,” she sassed, grinning. He groaned a little.

“Counted for me,” he said, towing her a fraction closer by her t-shirt. That agitated the water enough to splash his knees. She kissed him more intently then. Her arms were around his shoulders when she spoke again.

“Can’t you sneak me out of here?” she whispered. “Jane won’t. She says it isn’t safe.”

“You asked her before me,” he said, a little offended. “I run missions for Cap and you asked the absentminded professor?”

 

 


	80. floating is what you do (part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How much trouble could a STRIKE Commander and a girl with a tail get in, anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing!

Jane was returning from trip to get food--she really needed to thank Darcy because errands took up half her day with Darcy out of commission--when she realized someone else had been in Darcy’s secured room. She saw the wet footsteps. There was water on the floor. “Darce?” Jane called. “Darcy?” When there was no reply, she turned on the floodlights. That was when she realized there was no one in the tank. “Oh God, oh God,” Jane said, beginning to panic. 

 

Without water, Darcy stopped breathing.

 

A terrified Jane hit the button on a wall panel and lights above her head to started to flash.

 

“You’re a genius,” Darcy told him, blowing bubbles at Brock. He grinned down at her.

“I’m a highly stable genius,” he joked, as he wheeled her past Archives. She sloshed a little in the big plastic tub Brock had found in the loading area. He had it strapped on a flatbed hand truck, similarly pilfered for the purpose of getting her out of the basement. “You wanna see the vending machine on this floor?” he asked. 

“Yes,” Darcy said. “I want to see if it has Milky Ways. Or Snickers.” They were staying inside the building; he’d told her it was a loophole and she had pouted, but ultimately relented. He could tell she was just desperate to get out of that tank. Her mood had improved when he found the dollar store toys of hers in Jane’s normal office. She blew another round of the transparent, shiny bubbles towards a closed office door and laughed. “I’m so glad I saved Ducky. Jane made fun of him, but he’s fun,” she told him, floating the rubber duck across the water.

“You can tell her that,” Brock said. Darcy tilted her head back to look at him.

“Is there liquor anywhere in this building?” she said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Hmmm,” Brock said. “Let me think on that while I get you a Snickers, sweetheart.”

 

They found a vending machine in Sector 6. Brock fed dollar bills into it and Darcy called out the candy she wanted. “Oooh, they have Skittles! Can we get Skittles?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said. She was smiling brightly now.

“I missed vending machines,” she told him. “And bubbles and the lab and just, places that aren’t wet all the freaking time, Brock.”

“Yeah?” he said.

“I wanna be dry again. I miss being dry and warm. I hate being wet. Wet sucks. I never wanna be wet again,” Darcy complained. She looked at him and he raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you look at me like that!” she said, laughing. “It didn’t mean it dirty.”

“My feelings are a little hurt, baby. Here I am, trying to show you a good time and you’re saying that,” he teased. “You want some Kit Kats?”

“Yes,” she said. “Have you figured out liquor yet?”

“I might be able to filch some from Thompkins,” he said out loud. “It’ll be vodka, though. He keeps it in his desk.”

“Where?” Darcy said.

“Upstairs,” he said. “Popcorn?” There was an unpopped bag in the vending machine.

“Oh, yeah,” Darcy said, nodding. 

 

Jane had run to the twenty-four hour surveillance room at SHIELD immediately after she hit the alarm. It had shut down within a minute and she wanted to know why. The guard stared at her when she burst in. “Someone’s kidnapped Darcy!” she said urgently. The agent stared. “I hit the alarm but then it went off!” When there was no immediate response, Jane glared. “Are you just going to stand there?” she said.

“I turned it off. She’s with Rumlow,” the woman told Jane. “They’re in Sector 5 right now.”

“What?” Jane said.

“He visits every night,” the agent said slowly, as if Jane was particularly dim. “He told me he had special clearance to keep her company and we, uh, turned off the cameras after the first time.”

“First time?”

“He went swimming with her,” the agent said.

“Oh dear God!” Jane said in frustration. “She knows we don’t have her birth control problem solved yet! Where are they now?”

“Sector 5,” the agent repeated. Jane had gotten to the door when she spoke again. “Well, um, if it helps, I don’t think they were having that kind of sex?” the agent said in a tentative voice.

“Please delete that footage,” Jane said in a low, ominous voice. “I will get you Thor’s autograph.”

“Yes, doctor,” she said.

 

“Hey, gorgeous,” Darcy said, looking up at Brock. They were riding the elevator back to her tank. “Kiss me?”

“Yeah, sweetheart? You want me to kiss you now?” he said. 

“Yup,” Darcy said, happy and feeling eager to fool around with him some more. She was more flirty in her mermaid form, Jane had said. Several times. It was slightly weird, but he didn’t seem to mind. Darcy reached her hands up and beamed at him. He was leaning down--her eyes were locked on his lips--when the elevator doors opened. Someone was standing there.

“Your babies could have gills!” Jane shrieked. “Stop that!”

“Jane,” Darcy scolded.

“We don’t have your birth control worked out,” Jane said grimly. Her hands were on her hips now. “Do you want fish babies? With those catfish whiskers?”

“C’mon, that’s not gonna happen,” Darcy said. “We’ve been careful! I can’t believe you’re doing this--you’re embarrassing me in front of Brock--”

“They caught you naked on camera, the embarrassment ship has sailed,” Jane said archly.

“Excuse me?” Brock said, raising his hand.

“Yes?” Jane said, still glaring. 

“I had a vasectomy about five years ago, so we’re good,” he said. “Unless fish reproduction is, uh, different?”  

“You had a vasectomy?” Darcy said.

“Yeah. I’m, uh, sorry--wait, not sorry,” Brock said, appearing to get tongue-tied under Jane’s glare. “I should have told you,” he amended, “so nobody would worry.” He looked apologetically at Jane. “Sorry,” he repeated.

“Did Cho check it after she used the Cradle on you?” Jane demanded.

“Jane, tone!” Darcy said. “Be nice to m-my boyfriend”--Darcy winced internally--”or you’ll never get the good coffee formula again,” she threatened.

“Yes, she checked,” he said wryly. “There was a cup, she ran a test, I don’t have swimmers.”

“Okay,” Jane said, looking mollified. “We’re taking you back to your tank, this is really unsafe. It that leaked or tipped over--” Jane said.

“This seems like a lecture,” Brock whispered. Darcy nodded. Jane continued talking.

“Don’t worry,” Darcy whispered. She looked at Brock. “I won’t let her hurt you, babe.”

“I’m your boyfriend?” he said teasingly.

“If you want to be,” she said, as he wheeled her gently over the lip of the escalator. Jane was giving him the death glare again. 

“I do,” he said.

“Really?” Darcy asked. She felt almost giddy.

“You happy ‘bout that?” he asked.

“God, yes. I was afraid I would run you off and I can’t chase you,” she said. Brock chuckled. They wheeled down the hallway, trailing Jane. “She walks fast when she’s mad,” Darcy told him. He nodded. Then Darcy giggled.

“What?” Brock said.

“I’m stuck in the water and you don’t have swimmers!” she laugh-whispered. 

“Yeah,” he said.

 

Marching ahead of them, Jane looked back. “This is not funny!” she scolded. “Fish babies!”

“Fish babies,” Darcy mocked. “Darcy, how could you be so careless?” 

“I should have told you,” Brock said.

“It would have taken a load off my mind,” Darcy snarked. He burst out laughing.

“I heard that!” Jane called back.

“I know, that’s why I said it!” Darcy singsonged.

“You’re--you’re a bad mermaid,” Jane said. “Very naughty!” 

“Not helping me with the fish babies situation, Foster,” Brock joked. “You’re just baiting us now!”

“Oh good one. High five!” Darcy said. She shimmied in her plastic container. “This has been a great night!” She held the stolen vanilla vodka bottle up in celebration. "Woot!"

“Just be glad I didn’t catch you outside,” Jane said.

“Brock told me this wasn’t street legal,” Darcy said. Jane grinned and then frowned. “Oooooh, I saw that! Babe, she smiled at your joke! Jane, you should like him. He’s very funny, he found us vodka, and he paid for all my KitKats,” Darcy argued.

“I’m likeable enough,” Brock said, shrugging.

“No, you’re really cute and hot,” Darcy said. “You should see his butt, it’s incredible. It has those little dents that go in, like reversed parenthesis? Parenthe--how do you say it?” she wondered. “I can’t say that word!” Brock chuckled and rolled her into the tank room as Jane held the door open. 

“Help me get her back in the tank,” Jane said. “And thank you for not taking her outside.”

“Why can’t I go outside? I’m all pale,” Darcy said. She held her arm out for Brock. “See? My top half, anyway.”

“You were always that pale,” Jane said. “And people can’t see you.” She pointed at Darcy’s tail. “Someone could want to kidnap you!”

“We’ll tell them I’m practicing for Halloween. Or in a play!” Darcy said. 

“She’s right about the kidnapping,” Brock said, expression turning grim.

“Thank you,” Jane said. 

“I still say I probably need the vitamin D,” Darcy argued. Brock laughed. “What?” she said.

“Vitamin D,” he repeated, raising an eyebrow suggestively.

“Whoops,” Darcy said. 

“Did that slip out?” he cracked.

“Oh God, no dick jokes, please,” Jane said. 

 

Jane was asleep on a cot next to her equipment and Brock was stretched out on a sleeping bag next to the edge of the tank when Darcy stirred. She’d been napping on the little water platform in the tank so he’d felt free to close his eyes, too, but her movements woke him. He opened his eyes and saw she’d lifted her head slightly out of the water. He smiled at her. “Hey,” he said. “You ‘wake?” He toyed with her hand. He’d gotten close enough to hold her hand as she slept. Jane had joked that they looked like otters.

“Yeah,” she said. Her voice sounded glum.

“What’s bugging you?” he asked.

“What happens next?” she said quietly.

“Hmm?” he said, confused.

“Either they un-tail me or they never do,” she said slowly. “What happens then?”

“Yeah,” he said. “We’d have to work on getting you a better living arrangement, sweetheart--”

“We?” she said.

“You, me, Foster’s slapping arm,” he said casually, rolling his eyes towards Jane’s cot. She was snoring quietly. “She’s good at throwing her weight around. It’d be helpful.” Darcy looked at him quizzically. The wet strands of her hair were all wavy. “What?” he said.

“You’d stay even if I was mer-girl forever?” she said.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “I’d probably have to move, if we wanted to put a decent-sized tank at my place.” Her eyes widened.  
“A tank?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You gotta have a ground-floor place with a foundation to support the weight, I been reading.”

“Oh,” she said, looking surprised. He grinned at her.

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out,” he said.

“And if I’m not a mermaid?” she said. “If they fix it? You’d stay for that, too?” He grinned at her and made a face.

“It might be a little less hot, but I’d live,” he joked. He was surprised when she kissed him passionately. “Whoa, Splash,” he teased, when she pulled back, “you can’t get me all worked up with Foster here.”

“Boo,” Darcy said. She looked over his shoulder at Jane, then grinned. “Leave your boxers on and get in the tank with me?”

“Yeah,” he said.

 

He slipped into the water as quietly as possible. “Get over here,” he told her. Darcy was tantalizingly out of reach. 

“No,” she said, swimming backwards. 

“No?” he said. He pushed off the side of the tank to pursue her. 

“You have to catch me and I’ll move in with you,” she said, drifting slowly out of his reach.

“Is that right?” he said, smirking. “Wait until you see my breaststroke, sweetheart.”

“Ahhhhnnnt,” she said. “Cheesy!”

“You love it,” he said, swimming towards her. She dived right with a laugh. They were laughing and splashing each other when he finally caught her tail and pulled her towards him. Darcy shrieked in response to his grab. He corralled her against the tank wall and closed the distance between them. He was kissing her when a voice spoke above them.

“No sex in the tank,” Jane said. She was standing at the edge, looking down. 

“He wants to live with me,” Darcy said. She sounded breathless.

“I do,” Brock said. “Foster, you gotta help us make arrangements.”

“Sure,” Jane said. “But I’m getting rid of your tail first, Darce.”

“You’re just fish phobic,” Darcy sassed, grinning. Brock smiled at her. “It’s true,” she told him, curling her fingers in his hair. He could feel her tail brush the inside of his ankle. “She hates fish.”

“I do not,” Jane said. “I just want my assistant back, so you can be horny idiots in private.” She moved over to her laptop.

“Pffht,” Darcy said.  She half turned to look over the side of the tank. “You were a horny idiot for Thor for like two years!”

“Really?” Brock said in a whisper. “She was?” He couldn’t imagine it.

“She refused to bathe and only ate ice cream for like a week straight in London,” Darcy whispered in his ear. “I had to wrestle her to wash her sweatpants with the holes in them.”

“That sounds kinda hot,” he said, smirking.

“I heard that!” Jane yelled. “You’re horny pervs!”

“Yes we are,” Darcy said. Then she giggled. “Come make out with me on the far side.”  She pulled him over to the far side of the tank, away from where Jane was tapping at her keyboard and scrolling.

 

They were kissing again when the door to the room opened with a bang. Brock jerked up. He’d left his gun in his pants. Stupid. But when he saw who it was, he relaxed. A fraction. Nick Fury was looking at him wryly. “Well, I hate to interrupt, folks, but we may have a solution to your problem, Miss Lewis,” Fury said. A slightly out of breath Brock nodded.

“Sir,” he said. “Good news.”

“Great,” Jane said, standing up. She moved towards Fury. “Give me the details.”

“I should probably get out of here,” Brock whispered to Darcy, frowning.

“It’s not exactly professional, Commander,” Darcy teased, giving him a gentle shove towards the side of the tank where he could climb out. 

“Cho, Stark, and Banner have a device. Vision has agreed to assess it once it’s powered tomorrow,” he told them, after Brock had grabbed a towel and Darcy was listening over the side, frowning in concentration. 

“So we have to trust them?” he asked. Brock felt ill-prepared for this discussion, but it couldn’t be helped. He tried to keep his expression serious, despite his shirtlessness and the dripping water.

“Yes,” Fury said, giving him a look. 

“I want to see the specs before we do anything,” Jane said, mouth drawn in a line. 

“With all due respect, Doctor,” Fury said, “we’re all out of options here. You’ve tried Loki, you’ve tried Asgardian healers, we’ve had the marine biologists in, you’ve looked at portel tech and alien healers--”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” Jane said.

“She’s a security risk, in terms of HYDRA experimentation,” Fury added.

“Don’t say that in front of her,” Brock said.  He hadn’t talked about it too much, but one of the agents had suggested that Darcy’s condition meant she could be weaponized for underwater work. 

 

They were still bickering over whether the scientists’ work could be trusted when Darcy spoke.

“Excuse me,” Darcy yelled, hand raised, “when do I get to talk about what I want?” Everyone looked at her. “Whatever it is, I want to try. I can’t live in a tank for the next four or five decades, I’ll go crazy,” she said. “I want my life back.”

“Sweetheart, you know we can make adjustments--” Brock began.

“Don’t just give up like that,” Darcy said.

“We just don’t want you rushing at the first thing,” Jane said, clearly siding with Brock on this one. He felt a swell of gratitude and affection for Foster’s stubbornness and lack of trust. 

“No,” Darcy said. “My tail, my choice.”

“Dammit,” Jane grumbled. “I hate when you use my feminist stickers against me.” That made Fury chuckle.

“So, you want me to call them?” Fury asked Darcy. “You’re consenting to treatment?”

“Yes,” Darcy said, determinedly swishing her tail. 

“Darce,” Jane said pleadingly. 

“I’ll make arrangements,” Fury said, sweeping out. When Brock tried to talk to Darcy out of it, she swam to the middle of the tank and ignored his pacing around the outside or when Jane came and yelled through the clear panels.

“This is rude,” he said, tapping the tank wall. She stuck her tongue out at him. 

 

“You’re sure you’re ready?” Brock asked carefully, a week later. They were rolling Darcy in a open box filled with water on a stretcher towards Cho’s new machine. Brock was still worried Darcy could be hurt. She countered that he had trusted Cho to fix his burns and he’d found himself nonplussed, but unable to concede her point. They’d had an on and off week of arguments and intense making up that culminated in a serious debate last night on the safety of the treatment. Jane had finally made him leave for a few hours. He’d come back and apologized and Darcy had forgiven him. But now his heartbeat was thudding in his ears and his hand--clutching Darcy’s--was clammy with sweat. On her other side, Jane looked similarly worried.

“I’m going to be okay,” she said, lifting her head out of the water to smile at Jane and then him. He wanted to say something that would probably upset her: _You don’t know that. Nobody knows for certain._ But it wouldn’t help. And he didn’t want her going in upset. He smiled back.

“I know, sweetheart,” he lied. 

“Yeah,” Jane said. They turned the stretcher towards the next door and Brock breathed in roughly. The room with this machine was brightly lit. Darcy squeezed his hand.

“It’s go time,” she said. 

“Go time,” he echoed, trying to smile. 

“It’ll be okay, Darce,” Jane said gently. 

“Yup,” she said. 

 

The wait in the hallway seemed like it took hours. Brock paced back and forth. Jane tapped her foot. From inside the room, he could hear a faint buzzing. Finally, the door opened slowly and Cho’s assistant smiled at them. “She’s ready,” the woman said. Brock practically mowed Jane down to get to the door.

“Don’t squish me,” she said. They were both wedged in the doorway.

“Sorry, sorry--” he was saying, when someone spoke. 

“Are you two fighting to get to me?” Darcy said brightly. He looked up. She was sitting at the edge of a table in one of those little gowns. Her legs dangled. She kicked her feet at him. “Hey, I have feet!” she said.

“You have feet,” he said, feeling slightly dizzy. Jane moved over to peer at Darcy’s legs.

“How’s your range of motion?” Jane asked.

“Jane’s seen my feet before,” Darcy said to Brock. “She looks less impressed.”

“Yeah,” he said, grinning dopily. She was okay. 

“Can I walk?” Darcy said, turning her head to ask Cho. She was talking to Jane. “I can walk,” Darcy decided, when they appeared not to hear. She scooted off the table. Her first step was unsteady and she wobbled forward. He caught her. “Whoa!” she said. 

“I got you,” Brock said. Darcy beamed at him. “Does she need something?” Brock asked Cho. “She almost tripped.” He was anxious.

“Oh, that’s normal for me,” Darcy said, laughing.

“He doesn’t know,” Jane said to Cho, “that she’s much better at swimming than walking.”

“I tend to trip over invisible objects,” Darcy said. 

“Yeah?” Brock said, leaning down to kiss her. 

“Ahhh,” Darcy said. “You’re so much taller on land than in water, too.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I think I'm going to put all the tumblr prompts as individual shorts now in a series, so people can kudos individually and find stories easier to re-read. Sound cool?


End file.
